


Tempest

by Bre, So_Caffeinated (so_caffeinated)



Series: Forever Is Composed of Nows [5]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, F/F, F/M, Grief, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Major Character Injury, Multi, Panic Attack, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-03-02 03:45:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 142,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13309731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bre/pseuds/Bre, https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_caffeinated/pseuds/So_Caffeinated
Summary: Three years ago, tragedy struck Julianna Queen's life. Now, she wears a mask and fights at her father's side, looking for closure and justice as she tries to find a path to move forward with her life while holding on to her past. But that may a bit more complicated than she thinks...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When our journey with Forever is Composed of Nows began, around two and a half years ago, neither Bre nor I could ever have anticipated where it would take us. This story easily takes us past the million word mark and there is no shortage of plotlines ahead of us either. 
> 
> To say that I’m proud of this story would be a massive understatement. It’s only loosely fanfiction at this point and it went from being thought up a year and a half ago to being drafted (entirely by me) in a seven week period. In the past two and a half years, I’ve gone from working on this series only on the weekends to treating it like a full time job, writing an average of about 35 hours a week. This is the payoff. This is what I’ve proven to myself I can do and it’s more than I ever thought possible.
> 
> That said, there will surely be some readers for whom this story doesn’t fit their interests. Yes, Oliver and Felicity are together in this. Yes, they’re married and in love. They are in no way the focus of the story, though. This is their daughter Jules’ journey. They’re a part of that, but if you’re only interested in an Olicity story, you won’t find that here. 
> 
> Writing, I have found, is far from a solitary activity. I have so many people to thank. First and foremost Bre, who has been my co-story developer, sounding board and editor through all of this. Secondly, Lizzie and Jaimie who have been our betas with the FiCoN-verse from the start, unfailingly offering guidance and a critical eye. Thirdly, Iva, Fai, Jess and Alejandra for their cheerleading, love and occasional redirection when I went off track. I also have to thank hackergoddessfelicity and itschiling, both on tumblr, for the gorgeous cover art pieces, both of which I adore beyond words (hackergoddessfelicity's work is below; itschiling's can be found on my twitter and tumblr). But perhaps most of all, I’ve got to thank MrSoCaffeinated for consistently prioritizing my writing time over almost everything else. This story could not have happened otherwise. And you… I have to thank you, because if I didn’t have readers continuing to be engaged and supporting - here, on tumblr, on twitter, in DMs and e-mails - I cannot imagine that this would have ever been written. So thank you. Your readership and enthusiastic feedback means the world to me.
> 
> While the later chapters are still undergoing some editing, this story is completely drafted and runs about 125k words. It will be updated every Monday morning by 9 EST until finished. Thank you for sticking with me through this journey. I hope you find it a rewarding read that you come back to time and time again. 
> 
> All my love  
> So_Caffeinated
> 
>  
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/154759042@N07/24706067467/in/dateposted-public/)  
> 

It all slips through her fingers.

 

She scrambles, pressing back against the inevitable, as if her willpower alone might defy nature itself. She pushes her hands down as hard as she can, but it doesn’t work. It’s not enough. _She’s_ not enough. Thick, dark rush of blood pulses between her fingers, staining her hands, leaving a mark that will never fully go away.

 

“No. No, no, _no!”_

 

The voice doesn’t sound like hers. It’s raw and desperate, a harsh sound of pure emotion that howls through the streets like gale force winds. But it’s far away, drowned out by the rush of white noise ringing in her ears.

 

She doesn’t notice the fast-approaching wail of sirens, doesn’t pay attention to anyone around her. All she sees, all she’ll see for a very long time, is the fading light from those beautiful eyes she loves so much.

 

It blurs in a tidal wave of tears she can’t hold back.

 

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you _dare_ leave me.”

 

He gives her a ghost of a smile, whisper-thin and weak, but echoing a thousand grins he’s given her before. It makes everything worse, reminds her vividly of what she’s losing. Of what they’re _both_ losing. His smile was one of the first things that drew her to him.

 

And this is the last time she’ll see it.

 

“Please,” she begs, tears slipping down onto her own fingers as they press against his wound, trying desperately to seal it off. “Please. I need you. I don’t know how to… You have to hold on, okay? You have to… You have to be okay. I don’t know how to be okay without you.”

 

Even as she says it, she knows it’s fruitless. He does, too. She can see the effort it takes him to bring his hand to cover hers, and it only makes her cry harder when he does it anyhow, the last act of comfort he can give her. He slips shaking fingers between hers, gripping her as tight as he can, eyes never leaving her face.

 

“Love you, Julie,” he tells her, the words slurring together.

 

“I love you,” she replies. “I love you so much. Just hold on. Please hold on.”

 

But a second later his hand grows limp, his fingers slipping away from hers as that beautiful spark of life in his eyes fades. She calls his name, over and over, pushes harder on his wound, but there’s nothing she can do - nothing anyone can do - to bring him back.

 

He dies on the sidewalk two blocks from their apartment with the love of his life at his side, begging him to not leave, but he does.

 

In that instant something inside her splinters, cracks right down the middle, fracturing her forever.

 

The scream she lets loose rings out like a cry of a wild animal, primal and untamed. Pain and denial and anger swirl together in a torrent of emotion she can’t contain as the undertow of her sorrow and desperation pulls her down, filling her lungs, drowning her.

 

“We have to go,” someone says. Hands grab at her, trying to pull her away. “ _Jules_ , honey, he’s gone. I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry, but we need to leave.”

 

She barely hears the voice over the dull roar of nothingness filling her ears, over the echo of her screams. Reason has no place here. She fights against the familiar arms that try to tug her away, clinging instead to the body of the man she loves. His blood soaks through her clothes - to her skin, to her soul - and even as the rush of it between her fingers slows, she thinks if she can just stop it, maybe he’ll come back to her, maybe he’ll be okay.

 

But he isn’t, and he won’t be.

 

Blood runs everywhere, pooling beneath her in a sea she can’t escape.

 

 _He won’t be okay_.

 

She freezes, her throat closing up, her chest squeezing so tightly that black spots color her vision.

 

A rhythmic flash of red and white lights beats down on the scene, bathing everything in a dull illumination that somehow makes it all feel less real. The once-distant siren stops, but she barely notices, her rasped shouts of his name replacing it. There’s a rush of booted footfalls around her, but she can’t look away from his lifeless eyes where they stare at her.

 

“Will, _help me_ ,” says the strained voice of the man trying to pull her away.

 

Her father. It’s her father.

 

“Oh my god,” the familiar voice of her brother breathes out as he takes in the scene. “Jules…”

 

She doesn’t look up and she doesn’t beg them to save her boyfriend. It’s too late for that.

 

“Will, _help me_ ,” her father repeats again with a little more force.

 

“You have to get out of here,” he replies. More sirens wail, their cries echoing off the buildings, making them seem like they’re coming from every direction at once. “You can’t be here like this. I’ve got Jules.”

 

“I’m _not_ leaving her right now!”

 

“Dad…” Will replies, his voice low. Everything is far off, more like barely-there echoes, but later her memory will dredge everything up as she relives this moment over and over with varying degrees of painful awareness. “The police are coming. They’ll find out who you are if you’re here like this.”

 

“I’ve got a change of clothes in the truck,” another voice says. “It should fit. You can use it. But _hurry_.”

 

There’s a moment where her father wars with himself, not wanting to let her go even for a moment. His arms tighten around her to the point of pain, but then he finally releases her. He kisses her hair a half dozen times, mumbling that he’s sorry and he’ll be right back. He promises. His arms fall away and it’s her brother’s that take their place. She barely feels them. Neither is the person she wants holding her at the moment.  

 

“Jules, you have to let him go,” Will urges her softly as she clings to her boyfriend’s sodden shirt. “He’d want you to let him go.”

 

He’d want you to let him go.

 

 _He’d want you to let him go_.

 

 _He’d want you to let him go_.

 

 _He’d want you to let him go_.

 

Jules jerks awake with a ragged gasp.

 

The words echo through her memory as she sits up before she even registers being awake, cold sweat clinging to her skin, her cheeks wet with tears. A sob falls from her lips, breath heaving, an acrid taste clinging to her tongue.

 

When she looks at her hands, all she sees is his blood.

 

Nausea rolls through her as she scrambles from bed toward her bathroom. Her elbow slams into the sink but she barely feels it as she turns the water on, shoving her hands under the flow. But the blood is gone. Long gone, now. She only sees her shaking fingers, bright red like she’d been rubbing them together too hard. With a cracked, “ _God_ ,” she sags against the sink. Her stomach roils and she quickly splashes icy water on her face, not stopping until the urge to throw up disappears.

 

She takes her time, pushing back the turmoil in her gut as she washes away the remnants of her dream - of her _memory -_ from her skin.

 

When she can finally breathe unhindered, she turns the water off.

 

Some nights this happens. Some nights it’s too much and she has nowhere to pour her anger and guilt and grief. Some nights she wonders how she’s managed without him for so long.

 

Looking up at the mirror, she sees a woman with hollowed, bloodshot eyes staring back at her. Would Jackson even recognize the person she’s become in his absence? The answer mocks her and she can’t stand to think about that right now, can’t stand to think about _him_ right now. She takes the picture of them on the bathroom countertop and puts it face-down so that his happy smile doesn’t haunt her quite so readily.

 

So that her _own_ happy smile doesn’t haunt her.

 

 _He’d want you to let him go_.

 

Will’s voice rings out in her head and she almost chokes on the rueful, wet laugh that slips past her lips.

 

“Too bad I don’t know how,” she tells her own reflection.

 

It’s been nearly three years since that night, three years since her carefully built house of cards came crashing down around her. She is whole again, as whole as she can be. She welded those cracks in her soul shut, but the scars are visible for anyone to see. Despite how tightly she’s sewn her wounds together, she feels weaker, more vulnerable than before.

 

And she hates it.

 

Her dog wanders over and noses at her hand like she’s asking Jules what she’s doing awake at such an ungodly hour.

 

Jules smiles mutely down at the lab and scratches her behind the ear in reassurance.

 

“It’s fine, Bokeh,” she says. “I’m okay. I just… I’m just gonna go out for a bit. I’ll be back soon.”

 

On a bad night, there’s only one way to rid herself of the demons that chase her in her sleep. Jules grabs a bag in the corner of her bathroom and quickly glances in at the contents. Dark leather, a domino mask, a chain whip.

 

Some nights it’s a whole lot easier to be Tempest than to be Julianna Queen.

 

“Don’t wait up,” she tells the dog as she heads to the door, her bag slung over her shoulder. “There’s someone I need to find.”


	2. Chapter 2

By the time her demons are put to bed, Jules is too exhausted to head home. She falls asleep on a sofa in Arrow headquarters with her boots on and her weapon tossed aside nearby. 

 

A mere two hours later, she’s woken up by gentle fingers stroking the hair away from her brow. 

 

At first when Jules opens her eyes, she sees Jackson’s easy smile. Her heart jumps in anticipation before reality sets in, before she registers that it’s her mother leaning over her. His absence is a dulled pain these days, but it sharpens in moments like this.

 

“Hey,” Jules says, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she sits up. Her mother rocks back on her heels, unable to hide the quiet concern in her gaze. “What time is it?”

 

“Ten,” she replies, her voice soft and low. “How much sleep did you get?”

 

“Um… I’m not sure,” Jules lies, running her hand roughly through her hair. It catches on tangles she hadn’t bothered to work loose after the fights she’d picked in the middle of the night. “Enough.” 

 

“Sure,” her mother replies flatly, clearly not believing a word.

 

“It’s fine, Mom.” Jules stands up, stretching out the kinks in her neck. The sofa is comfortable but it’s not  _ that _ comfortable. “I’m fine. Just a rough night.”

 

“Nightmares?” 

 

Answering seems unnecessary and she almost lies because she doesn’t want to see that look on her mother’s face, but Jules gives her a slow nod anyhow. “Yeah,” she replies, staring sightlessly at the salmon ladder across the room.

 

“Honey…” Her mother’s voice is soft and Jules already knows what she’s going to say. “He wouldn’t want that-”

 

“No, he wouldn’t want to be dead,” Jules retorts, looking at her mom. There’s no malice in her voice, not toward her mother anyhow, but Felicity holds her hands up in acquiescence. 

 

“You’re right,” she agrees, giving her daughter a knowing look when Jules huffs. “You are. But so am I. He wouldn’t want you punishing yourself like this years after he’s gone.”

 

“Well I need to punish someone!” Jules snaps. Her loss echoes in her voice. It’s still so raw, so near the surface, and she doesn’t hold back, not like she used to. Her mother has unfailingly been there for her since that horrible night. It’s never been easy to expose her vulnerabilities, but it’s become easier with her family, easier to lean on them than to carry this burden alone. “I can’t punish the bastard who did this, Mom. I can’t even  _ find _ him. I can’t get justice for what was done to the love of my life, so tell me, who am I supposed to blame for that?” 

 

Felicity presses her lips together before sighing. She grabs her daughter’s hand and pulls her down to the sofa with a quiet, “Sit with me.” 

 

Once upon a time, Jules wouldn’t have allowed her mother’s comfort. But life has changed and she’s changed with it. She might not feel like she deserves the solace her mother offers, but she can’t refuse the soft embrace of her concern. It’s too much like a warm blanket when she’s been lost in a storm for far too long.

 

Jules sits and when Felicity wraps her arm around her shoulders, she leans into her embrace.

 

“Look at me, Jules,” her mother says. It’s not stated as a request. Jules might be twenty-four, but sometimes she still feels like a little girl when she’s face-to-face with her parents. “First of all, Julie-bug… You are a bright, beautiful, intelligent young woman with your whole life ahead of you. I have no doubt that you loved Jackson with everything you had, but don’t write off the idea of falling in love again someday.”

 

Jules snorts at that and rolls her eyes. Yeah, sure, she’s a real catch.

 

“Stop it,” her mother orders. “You’re an amazing young woman. And one day, when you’re ready, I think you’ll find someone new you want to share your life with. Jackson wasn’t a selfish man, baby. He would’ve wanted that for you. Just don’t go writing off the possibility, okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Jules replies, entirely for her mother’s benefit. “Okay.” 

 

She can’t possibly imagine opening up her heart again when she knows vividly how much it hurts to suffer a loss. She survived that pain once. The notion of having to do it again… God, it’s  _ unthinkable. _

 

She has her family and her dog. That’s all she needs. Between her mask and her paintbrush, she’s found ways to cope with her pain. And when she needs company for the night… well, that’s proven easy enough to find. But the idea of something long-term? Of letting someone into her heart? She can’t even fathom it. 

 

When her mother just sighs, Jules knows she doesn’t buy her easy agreement, but she doesn’t press. And for  _ that _ , she’s so grateful. Instead Felicity cups her daughter’s hands in her own slightly wrinkled ones, holding onto her like she’s the most precious thing in the world.

 

“You know, I was your age when we lost the first Ellie,” Felicity says. “I know it’s not the same, but I do have an idea of how that bone-deep sense of loss can cling to you. And, sweetheart, I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, much less you.” 

 

Jules nods at her knees. “Yeah.”

 

“It does get better,” her mom advises. “If you let it.” 

 

“Yeah,” Jules repeats. 

 

“And while there are surely people to blame for Jackson’s death, absolutely none of them are  _ you _ ,” Felicity says, ducking her head to force Jules to catch her eye. 

 

There are times her mother reads her far too well.

 

“It’s just…” Jules swallows heavily and licks her lips before continuing, her voice coming out thick and weighted down. “If I’d been faster, if I’d picked up the phone when Dad called to warn me, if I’d just  _ seen _ him first, if…” Her voice cracks. “If I hadn’t hidden so much from Jackson, if he’d just known I could protect myself…” 

 

Felicity’s hands tighten around hers. “Don’t lose yourself in the ‘if onlys,’” she says. “Absolutely no good comes from that. Ask your father, if you don’t believe me. He went through quite a bit of that after your Aunt Thea died.”

 

“I remember.”

 

“We will find Jackson’s killer, Jules,” Felicity vows, squeezing her hands for emphasis. “Whoever he is, he can’t hide forever. It’s just a matter of time. And luck, and hard work. We will find him. So don’t get so wrapped up in exacting justice for Jackson’s life that you forget to live your own.”

 

That hits too close to home. 

 

“Thanks, Mom.” With a forced smile, Jules pulls her hands away from her mother’s. “You always seem to give the best advice.”

 

Felicity nods, both of them knowing she saw right through her daughter. “Well, I try.”

 

“Except maybe when it comes to cooking.”

 

“Hey,” Felicity chastises, going along with the easy subject change as mock-offense skews her features. Her mother clasps her hands to her heart, drawing an honest smile out of Jules. “You could at least pretend I’m not that awful.”

 

“True, but that’d make me a liar,” Jules replies.

 

Felicity chuckles. “There’s my girl,” she says proudly with a little wink.

 

Jules feels more like herself after their exchange. Shaking off her nightmares is never easy, but her mom helps. She has ever since that first night when she’d helped her nearly catatonic daughter scrub the drying blood from her body, wrapped her in the fluffiest blanket she owned and held her the entire night and so many nights afterwards. It’s something Jules will never, ever forget. For all she lost that night, there’s an understanding about her relationship with her mother that she gained as well. 

 

“I need to get going,” Jules says, glancing at the clock on a nearby computer before standing. “Bokeh’s probably dying for a walk by now and I need to get a few hours of painting in before Will’s game.”

 

Delighted surprise flits across her mother’s face. “You’re going to Will’s game?”

 

“Yeah, he asked me to come,” Jules says, looking around for where she left her bag and keys. “It’s been years since I watched him play and I guess this one’s important to him.”

 

“Fire department against the police department?” Felicity laughs. “Yeah, it’s important to him. They got trounced last year and he’s looking for payback. You being there will mean a lot to him. I have meetings and your dad’s up in the capital, so we can’t make it.”

 

“Are Ellie and Nate going?” Jules asks, finally finding her keys and looping the keychain around her pointer finger. 

 

“I don’t think so, but Beth is,” her mom informs her. 

 

“Hmm.” Jules mulls, considering her older half-brother’s baby half-sister. Beth’s just a kid, but after losing her mother in a car accident as a toddler, Will’s been more like a second parent to her than a brother. “Maybe I’ll see if she needs a ride then. That way David doesn’t have to go if he doesn’t want to.”

 

It’s really because Jules is pretty sure Beth’s dad could use a break from the whirlwind that is his daughter.

 

“I bet he’d appreciate that,” Felicity says. 

 

“Yeah. I’ll call him in a bit.” Jules shoulders her bag and eyes her mother for a second before stepping forward and wrapping her up in a hug. “Thanks, Mom,” she mutters into her mother’s shoulder. 

 

“Anytime and everytime, Julie-bug,” Felicity replies, holding her daughter tightly. “You know that.”

 

“I do,” Jules agrees with a genuine smile as she pulls back. “I’ll be in for patrol tonight, okay?”

 

“See you then.” 

 

When Jules reaches her studio apartment, Bokeh immediately whines for walk. With an apologetic scratch of her face, Jules takes the pup for a long stroll through the bustling downtown city streets before winding their towards her art studio and gallery.

 

Sometimes Jules misses dancing. But in the days and months that had followed Jackson’s death, she’d found herself incapable of even setting foot in the dance hall where they’d first met. And, more than that, she’d had a choice to make: bruising and wounds go hand-in-hand with vigilantism, but there’s no room for that when it comes to professional dancing. After that realization, it’d been easier than she’d expected to let go of the career she’d once been so focused on. 

 

It’s turned out pretty okay, actually. With dance, emotion is dictated by the choreography. With her painting, it’s controlled entirely by her. 

 

When he’d been present in her life still, Jackson had encouraged her to do both - to dance  _ and _ paint. He’d believed she could do anything she put her mind to and told her so on a regular basis. Sometimes, when she closes her eyes and lets her mind drift, she can still hear his voice in her ear, supporting her and telling her to chase after her dreams.

 

Once upon a time, those dreams had included dance  _ and _ her art, just like Jackson had told her. But now she dreams of justice and no amount of chasing has brought her that so far. 

 

When she and Bokeh reach her gallery, she sighs, fiddling with the locks. 

 

She opened her gallery nearly a year after Jackson’s death, but he was inadvertently the one who named it. 

 

Barefoot Canvas is more a home to her than her little apartment a few blocks away. There’s more of her that lives here than the sparsely decorated place where she sometimes sleeps. For a while, she’d considered just renovating some of the storage area in the back and living there. But, in the end she’d needed an excuse to come and go from her home at all hours. Her neighbors at her apartment wrote her off as a quirky artist who finds her inspiration in the middle of the night. That’s a whole lot better than trying to sneak out of a busy business thoroughfare to finish her night off as a vigilante.

 

A giant canvas she’d danced her way across with paint all over her feet as Jackson snapped pictures of her hangs front-and-center as she enters.

 

Most of her art doesn’t exude nearly the same sense of lightness and whimsy. Painting is therapeutic for her. It always has been, ever since she was a little girl questioning her place in the world. Much of her art feels like she’s bled her frustration and pain all over a canvas. Sometimes that means her work is too personal to sell, but it also translates to a fair bit of critical acclaim. Initially, plenty of people had written her off as a well-funded heiress playing with paints and her daddy’s money. But, that hadn’t lasted long. The merit of her work silenced those voices quickly.  

 

Jules relocks the door behind her and whistles for Bokeh to follow as she heads toward her workspace in the back. The dog follows dutifully, meandering toward her water bowl before curling up on a dog bed, patiently watching Jules as she wrestles with an elastic ponytail holder. 

 

The painting Jules has been working on for the last few days stares mockingly at her. It’s a mess of frustration drawn out in paint. All rough edges and harsh strokes with colors that are just a touch off from what would compliment each other. Sometimes getting these feelings out helps, committing them to canvas can feel like a release. But, other times it’s entirely ineffective. 

 

Like now.

 

Painting, fighting, or fucking. 

 

Those are the three things loosen the valve on the mounting pressure in her chest, that let her get through another day without imploding from her own inability to right the wrongs done to Jackson, done to her. 

 

Jules does her best, zeroing in on the work before her, giving it all her attention for the next few hours, trying to pour everything she’s feeling out through her paintbrushes. 

 

By the time she’s done, the canvas looks like it’s been attacked with paint. It’s violent and messy, frustrated and raw. It’ll sell for sure, but it hasn’t even come close to giving her what she needs.

 

Maybe that will take a few more canvases.

 

“Strike two against painting,” she grumbles to herself before glancing to the side at a stack of recently completed works. “Actually, maybe that’s strike three.”

 

Sighing heavily, she steps back a bit to appraise her newest piece. It’s pure habit to keep stepping back until she finds Bokeh’s bed where it sits against a wall. She settles down on the floor next to the dog and absently pets her neck when the lab lays its head on her lap. 

 

“It’s okay, I think,” Jules says. “It’ll work with some of the others for the exhibit in a few months, anyhow.” She looks down at Bokeh. “How about you? Do you like it?” 

 

Bokeh just quirks a doggy eyebrow at her, making Jules laugh.

 

The silence that follows is comfortable as she drags her fingers down Bokeh’s nose.

 

“I miss him, you know,” Jules confides. The dog watches with non-judgemental concern, as dogs often do, and she licks Jules’ hand in comfort. She might not understand a single word, but she definitely understands her person’s mood. “More than that, though, I’m just so tired of feeling this way. It’s exhausting.” 

 

The lab whines and noses at Jules’ hand in a blatant instruction to keep petting her, knowing it will comfort them both. Jules abides, scratching between the dog’s shoulders as she lets her head fall back against the wall with a thud, allowing the big questions to wash over her. 

 

How does this end? 

 

When does she get to a place where she feels at peace? 

 

And more importantly,  _ can  _ she? How? Is she even on the right path for that?

 

It seems to her that there can be no sense of closure until she’s looked Jackson’s killer in the eye and twisted the knife in  _ his _ gut, watched the life fade from  _ his _ eyes. It’d be poetic.  _ Appropriate.  _ If her life were a movie, that would be how this ends. She’d exact justice and the credits would roll with her character having found some kind of newfound sense of purpose just before a pop-rock girl power song blared too loudly. 

 

Too bad life isn’t like that. 

 

Three years after Jackson’s death, they still haven’t been able to find his killer. They haven’t even been able to figure out  _ who  _ he is, much less hold him accountable. And the ever-present static sense of impotence in Jules’ gut just gets heavier and heavier.

 

Maybe a distraction would do her good. If painting and fighting aren’t letting her mind go blank, maybe a night or two in someone’s bed would. After losing Jackson, it’d been a year and a half before she’d slept with someone again. The sense of betrayal that first time had been so overwhelming she’d wound up spending the whole next day curled up in her bed, a sobbing mess. She’s distanced herself emotionally from sex a lot since then, more out of self-preservation than anything else. Sometimes her body has needs and sometimes it helps her disconnect from the turmoil in her head. But there is no one she’s going to let replace Jackson in her heart. Not now, not ever, despite what her mother might seem to think. So, she’s taken her own feelings out of the equation. Sex isn’t about that anymore. Not for her. 

 

“Maybe I just need to get laid,” she muses, her tone morose even to her own ears. “It’s been a while.” 

 

Bokeh looks up at her indignantly. 

 

“Don’t be judgy,” she chastises, scratching the lab behind her ear again. “Some of us have needs, you know.”

 

Catching the time, Jules pushes up off the floor and leaves the dog behind as she wanders to the bathroom to clean up. She’s only got a little while before she’s supposed to pick up Beth, an offer that David had been more than happy about, and she’d rather not show up anywhere with drying paint smears all over her clothes. She’s a bit shy on spare outfits lying around, something she makes a mental note to fix in the near future. But it’s barely September. The heat of summer still clings to Starling with a grip that doesn’t feel like it’ll ever loosen, and the jean shorts and tank top she finds stashed under the bathroom sink will do just fine. 

 

She makes short work of changing and whistles to Bokeh with a head tilt toward the door. Her dog trots after her and the pair of them head back toward her little apartment where her car sits waiting for them. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE. 
> 
> I know it's not Monday, but also I have no self-control, so here you go. You may also notice I added Bre as a co-author. While I was the one who initially drafted the story in full, I cannot overstate how much her editing has improved it. She didn't think it was necessary to put her as co-author, but I think she deserves the credit. 
> 
> ENJOY!

  
  


When Jules gets back to her studio, she debates leaving Bokeh at home. One look at the dog's perked ears axes that idea. The lab has been cooped up more than she'd like lately, so Jules brings her along. It pleases the pup, who sticks her head out the window and lets her tongue loll out as the breeze ruffles her fur. 

 

It’ll please Beth even more.

 

The nine-year-old doesn’t have a dog, something Jules finds completely tragic for the life of any little girl, but particularly for one who’s been essentially raised as an only child by a single dad. If anyone could use a dog in her life, it’s Bethany. Jules knows firsthand how a puppy can play the role of confidante and companion to a child. She told Buster more than any human in her life when she was growing up. The only person who’d even come close was Will. But, Jules supposes at least Beth has him too and she has the good sense to adore him every bit as much as Jules had at the age of nine. 

 

That doesn’t mean she’ll be on time for his game, though. Heaven forbid Bethany leave the house without the right purse or the perfect pair of earrings. The girl takes  _ forever _ to get ready to go anywhere. 

 

By the time she deems herself ready and they head over to the ballpark, Will’s game is already starting the third inning. 

 

Squinting against the sun with her hand against her brow, Jules scans the field as Beth and Bokeh scramble out of the car behind her. Will’s team is up to bat, but he’s on the bench chewing bubblegum absently as he studies the other team’s pitcher. 

 

Of course he is. Will’s always taken baseball seriously. 

 

“Hey, there’s Ellie!” Beth chirps, waving toward the bleachers. 

 

Sure enough, Jules finds her sister sitting on the very edge of the stands, waving back at them. Beth bolts ahead, Bokeh on her heels as she scurries to chatter with the blonde. She’s pretty cool for a nine-year-old, but Beth can talk a mile a minute and Jules is relieved that her equally chatty sister is on hand because she can only take just so much gushing about the newest not-quite-tweenage music idol and the best brand of cherry-flavored lip gloss.

 

Making a face at the hot metal bleachers, Jules opts for sidling up to the chain-linked metal fence at the edge of the stands instead. The heat of the day washes over her and she hums in satisfaction as it blankets her in warmth. Ever the dutiful dog, Bokeh heads back to her a moment later and lies down with her head atop Jules’ feet. 

 

“How are they doing?” Jules asks her sister when Beth stops for breath. 

 

“Still scoreless,” Ellie tells her, perching her sunglasses atop her head. “Will hit a triple in the second inning but the next hitter got walked and the two after got struck out before Ryan from Station 43 was up to bat. He can’t lay off the bad pitches for anything. Struck out chasing balls with guys on first and third.”

 

Jules winces at that and looks back at her brother. Some of that intensity he’s got on display right now is definitely frustration. Will hates losing, but he hates losing for stupid reasons even more. 

 

“It’s still early,” Jules notes.

 

“Yeah and the SCPD sucks,” Ellie nods, which is met with a loud, “ _ Excuse you, _ ” from someone a few seats over. Ellie gives an abashed look and a half-earnest apology, but Jules just snorts and looks back out to the field. 

 

“Will’s up next!” Beth announces, rushing up to the fence next to Jules and peeking through the chainlinks. The little girl presses up on her tiptoes, like that’ll make a difference in her view. 

 

Sure enough, Will’s on deck, stretching and taking a few practice swings. It’s been a long time since he played college ball and the fire department doesn’t exactly practice regularly, but Jules figures muscle memory must help because his swing looks nearly as good as it did a decade ago. Javi’s at bat and he pops a fly ball to center field, which the outfielder catches easily.

 

When Will steps up to the plate, Jules’ lips quirk in a devilish smile before she cups her hands and shouts, “ _ Hey, batter batter batter.” _

 

It’s a blatant taunt. He’s trying to be serious, trying to  _ focus _ , but he can’t fight down his grin as he shakes his head and chuckles to himself. 

 

A slow, self-satisfied smirk spreads across Jules’ lips at that, but then she quickly settles firmly into Team Will mode. 

 

When the umpire calls a strike, Jules is the one shouting at him about leaving his glasses at home. And when Will hits a double on his third swing, she cheers louder than half of the people sitting in the bleachers behind her put together. He tosses a smile her way as soon as he’s safely at second and she’s instantly glad she came. It’s been a long time since she’s watched Will play. He’s obviously glad to have some of his family on-hand. And, anyhow, there’s a kind of joy Will lights up with when he plays ball. It’s pretty great to see. He’s needed something like this for a while.

 

Beth is halfway up the fence, peeking over the top and waving wildly to Will. This continues quite innocently for a moment before she looks at Jules and says, “So how are we rigging this thing to make sure Will’s team wins?”

 

Jules cracks up at that and ruffles the girl’s hair. For all that Beth can seem like the cutesy little princess type sometimes, she’s also got a crafty, rebellious streak a mile wide. It’s infinitely endearing. At least to Jules. 

 

“No one’s rigging anything,” Ellie informs her, abandoning the bleachers to join them against the fence and reaching down to pet Bokeh. “Will’s team is gonna win this fair-and-square. It wouldn’t mean anything otherwise, right?”

 

Beth just raises her eyebrows and gives the most deadpan stare Jules has ever seen from someone that wasn’t her Uncle Roy. “ _ Can you even believe this _ ?” her face is saying.  _ “Is she for real? _ ”

 

“They’ve got this,” Jules announces with confidence. “One solid hit and Will’s home. Boys in blue aren’t gonna catch him. They aren’t that quick.”

 

She’d know, wouldn’t she? Tempest has yet to be caught and it’s definitely not for lack of trying by the SCPD. Leaving bodies might not be her thing - she’s careful; there’s only one life she wants to take - but that doesn’t mean the police haven’t been on her trail for some time. It’s part and parcel with being a vigilante, she supposes. 

 

The way Ellie smothers a laugh gives her the idea that maybe she agrees. 

 

“Who’s up next?” Beth asks, leaning far enough over the fence that Ellie grabs the back of the girl’s shirt to keep her from toppling over. “Whoever it is had better be good or we’ll be having  _ words _ .”

 

Jules lets out a sharp laugh at the girl’s vicious streak. She’s never been much of a fan of little kids, but Beth’s sarcastic and devious. Watching Will deal with that is a never-ending source of joy.

 

“It’s Alex’s turn at bat,” Ellie tells Beth. “As long as he gets a solid pitch, we’re good.” 

 

Jules cranes her neck to get a better look at the man walking up to the plate. Crazy as it is, she’s never met the man who is her big brother’s best friend. They’ve worked together for years and she knows that he and Will are really close, but somehow she’s never crossed paths with him. 

 

Until now.

 

“Oh,” she says under her breath when she sees him.

 

She’s not sure what she expected, but the tall, well-built, confident man with a hint of gray peppering his hair where it peeks out from beneath his ballcap isn’t it. The few times she’s run across him on Will’s social media most definitely had  _ not _ done him justice.

 

“That’s Alex?” Jules asks. 

 

“Yeah.” Ellie blinks at her. “Have you seriously never met?” 

 

“I definitely have yet to make his acquaintance,” she answers before chewing on her lower lip. 

 

Jules tilts her head, soaking in the way that uniform hugs his ass as he gets into position to bat. He has a hell of a form. But before she can see it in action, the police department’s coach calls a timeout and the game breaks for a moment while the team confers about strategy. That’s fine. There’s plenty to keep Jules’ attention right now. Like the broad line of Alex’s well-muscled back. He definitely makes for a nice piece of eye candy.

 

“Are you for real right now?” Ellie asks.

 

Defensiveness coils up in Jules’ gut as she whips her head to look at her sister. The sudden need to put her hackles up and back away nearly blinds her. It’s only Bokeh on her feet that keeps her in place. “I do have eyes, you know,” she says with a little too much bite.

 

“I know,” Ellie confirms. “I just hadn’t seen you use them in a while.”

 

“I… do,” Jules insists, glancing down at Beth before looking back at Ellie. “Sometimes. I just… you know…  _ limit _ my acquaintanceships.” 

 

Talking in kid-appropriate code is hard, but she knows she gets her point across when Ellie’s eyebrows shoot for her hairline. It figures. As far as she knows, Ellie’s never gotten physical with someone she wasn’t deeply involved with. She probably can’t even imagine it. Ellie might be nowhere near as by-the-book about life as their little brother, but sometimes Jules thinks Nate and Ellie have a lot more in common than she and Ellie do. 

 

She’s more like Will. Always has been. 

 

“You should totally date Alex,” Beth pipes in. Jules winces. Apparently the sprog is more clever than she’d assumed. “He’s nice and he has a pool, so if you married him I could come over and use it all the time.”

 

The sound that erupts from Jules’ throat is somewhere between choking or coughing. Possibly she’s achieving both at once. Ellie thumps her solidly on the back, but she can’t seem to catch her breath and her eyes are watering because  _ holy shit _ , way to jump the gun there, Beth. 

 

“Could you  _ not _ kill my sister?” Ellie asks Beth dryly. 

 

“What?” Beth asks. There’s no way the innocence in her voice is real. Jules knows better and she shoots the kid a look as she finally manages to catch her breath. Beth breezes over the glare as if it’s not even there. “She  _ should _ date him. He’s very nice and he isn’t married and he’s Will’s best friend and he has a pool. I see no downside.”

 

“Oh my God,” Jules says, casting her eyes skyward. 

 

“Beth, how about you grab us some ice cream?” Ellie requests, pulling out her wallet and slapping a few dollars into the girl’s hands. 

 

“You just want to talk without me here,” Beth accuses. She pockets the cash though. Girl’s got brains. “I’m not a little kid, you know. I’m  _ nine _ .”

 

“Do you want the ice cream or not?” Jules challenges. It really is that simple. 

 

Beth knows it, too, because she huffs in annoyance and stalks off to the little cart selling frozen treats a couple dozen feet away. 

 

“Are you looking to start dating again?” Ellie asks the second Beth’s out of earshot. 

 

Good lord, how long is this timeout? 

 

“No,” Jules scoffs. “Of course not.”

 

“Cause, you know… that wouldn’t be a bad thing,” Ellie says. 

 

Jules has already had one talk like this today and she doesn’t need a second. “Yeah?” she asks, folding her arms in front of her. “Tell me how long you’d wait to start dating again if Sara were murdered in front of you.”

 

Ellie goes deathly pale at that and Jules immediately regrets her words, but not enough to take them back. 

 

“We’re not together,” Ellie points out. “We’ve never been together.”

 

“I know,” Jules tells her. “And that’s stupid. I’m like thirty seconds from locking the two of you in a room together and refusing to let you out before you start tearing each other’s clothes off. If I have to deal with you both staring longingly at the other across the lair for much longer I’m going to lose my goddamn mind.”

 

“That’s not…” Ellie says, blushing horribly and looking at her feet. “That’s not gonna happen. We work together. We’re best friends. Anything more than that jeopardizes our friendship and our partnership.”

 

“Yeah?” Jules asks, quirking her head to the side. “That you talking or Sara?”

 

Ellie doesn’t have to answer. Jules already knows without a doubt which one of them is setting the rules here and it’s definitely not her baby sister. 

 

“Forget about me,” Ellie mumbles, shaking her head. “I’m trying to talk about  _ you _ .”

 

“I noticed,” Jules returns with a glib bite to her voice before she sighs and takes a different tact. “Look, sometimes flirting or screwing around is nice. Scratches the itch, you know? But that’s the beginning and the end of it.” 

 

Ellie’s clearly thinking through her words before replying. She bites her lip and her eyes stay locked on Jules’, big and searching. The caution she’s proceeding with definitely sets Jules on edge more. 

 

“In that case,” Ellie says, her voice laden with the weight of her words. “I’m gonna suggest you steer clear of Will’s best friend.”

 

“Because you think he’d have a fit about it?” Jules scoffs. 

 

“No,” Ellie replies immediately. “Because relationships  _ can  _ screw with friendships. They can ruin working relationships. They can absolutely complicate everything and not just for the people involved, but everyone around them, too.”

 

Annoyance floods Jules’ chest as she scowls at her sister.  _ Relationships _ , she’d said. She’s clearly still looking at this from her own perspective. 

 

“I’m not gonna ruin anything,” Jules tells her. “All I was doing was  _ looking _ . You’re getting way ahead of yourself. Even if I did have some other intentions, who’s to say he’d be interested?”

 

“Well, judging by the way he’s looking over here, I’d say he is,” Ellie counters. 

 

Jules’ head snaps back toward the field, her ponytail whipping behind her. 

 

Sure enough, he’s staring right at her, but at first glance she’s not sure about Ellie’s assessment. There’s recognition and interest in his gaze, but it’s not exactly what she’d term as  _ attraction _ . At least, not at first. But she is Julianna Queen so she returns his curious look with a raised eyebrow. He has the nerve to smirk in reply and she finds her interest in her brother’s best friend multiplies exponentially at that playful quirk of his lips and knowing look in his eye. 

 

He looks like trouble, exactly the sort she’s happy to incorporate into her life.

 

Jules absently runs her tongue along the flat of her teeth as she looks him up and down. 

 

There’s no way he misses it, but he also grimaces and turns back to pay attention to the game. 

 

Because he’s up to bat after all and it seems like the other team is finally ready to continue their match-up. Still, knowing he turned away from her and now watching him choke up on the bat as he shakes his head, like he’s trying to clear his mind… 

 

It feels very much like a challenge, like the best distraction she can think of. 

 

And she’s  _ more _ than game. 

 

He’s trying to ignore her, trying to seem unaffected by the blatantly interested look she’d given him, but even from her spot against the fences she can see how tight his jaw is and how hard he swallows as he blinks too quickly at the pitcher.

 

Yeah, she decides quickly, this is gonna be  _ fun _ . 

 

“This is a terrible idea,” Ellie says as Jules soaks in the view in front of her. 

 

“What’s a terrible idea?” Beth asks, rejoining them with three ice cream cones in hand. Hers has twice as much has the other two, but that’s really no surprise. 

 

“Oh, Will trying to steal third,” Ellie lies. Beth eyes her with deep suspicion. The queen of lies and half-truths, very little gets past the nine-year-old’s bullshit radar. It’s only Ellie’s luck that saves her from a nosy conversation with a third grader. 

 

Will does, in fact, try to steal third.

 

Right as he takes off, the bat cracks loudly as Alex strikes a solid grounder past the first baseman. Will’s halfway to third before Alex even makes the hit and he’s home well before the other man slides safely into second base. Beth cheers so much that she nearly drops her ice cream. 

 

“Oh, wouldn’t it have been great if Alex had gotten a home run, though?” Beth asks, turning toward Ellie with huge, excited eyes. 

 

“He might yet,” Jules muses, watching as the bulky fireman brushes himself off, taking a small lead from second base before letting his eyes flit to her. “It’s early still.”

 

The lick she takes of her ice cream cone is positively indecent and absolutely intentional. She’s distracted him, that much is obvious because his gaze lingers a whole lot longer than it should, but he also turns away from her and licks his lips as he focuses on his own team gathering to high-five each other at their bench. 

 

Will… he’s looking at Will. It’s probably against some guy code to screw around with a buddy’s little sister, right? She hums in annoyance at that thought. 

 

“Jules,” Ellie hisses at her, covering Bethany’s eyes with a hand and one of her ears with the other. Her ice cream drips on Beth’s cheek. “Ixnay on-a uh-they irting-flay.”

 

Jules blinks at her sister. Is she for real right now?

 

“Oh-nay ome-hay un-ray alk-tay in-a ont-fray of-a e-they ild-chay!”

 

“I know pig latin. And also I have two ears,” Beth points out, pulling Ellie’s hand away from her face and swiping at her cheek. “Why aren’t we talking about home runs?”

 

“Because he got a double!” Ellie laughs nervously, giving Beth a one-armed squeeze of a hug as the girl looks up at her like she’s nuts. 

 

“Second base isn’t bad either,” Jules agrees, gripping the fence as she leans against it and eyes Alex. “Anything past first sounds pretty good right about now.”

 

“Oh my God,” Ellie breathes out. Even without looking at her, Jules knows her sister’s eyes are hugely disbelieving and she’s shaking her head. 

 

Jules is shameless though and she doesn’t feel like verbally sparring with her sister, so she escapes any kind of censure the easiest way she can - by pointing out the obvious. 

 

“Sara’s up to bat next.”

 

Ellie immediately falls silent, which comes as no surprise at all. There’s no point in Ellie’s life where Sara Diggle hasn’t immediately drawn every single bit of her attention. In fact, Jules can’t remember a time where her sister wasn’t in love with Sara in some fashion. After finding out that Sara was bisexual, she’d really thought that Ellie was going to luck out. But it hasn’t turned out that way. 

 

For about a year after Sara came out, nothing had changed at all in her relationship with Ellie. Well… nothing had changed for  _ Sara _ , anyhow. Ellie had been heartbroken. It had been bad enough watching the girl she loved date other people when she thought Sara was straight, but she’d taken it a million times worse watching her date another girl. Because then the problem wasn’t that Sara didn’t like girls; it was that she didn’t like  _ Ellie _ . And, lifelong sort-of-friend or not, Jules had been about ready to slap some sense into Sara when everything suddenly changed. 

 

Jules still doesn’t know exactly  _ what _ that change was, but about a year after Sara first started dating girls everything shifted between her and Ellie. They started trading off staring at each other whenever one of them wasn’t looking. They started consciously not touching and seemed hyper-aware of the space between them at all times. In Jules’ opinion, the tension is  _ dumb _ . There’s something going on beneath the surface that she’s not privy to. It’s not like Ellie tells her everything. But she doesn’t need details. They don’t matter. At this point they clearly are both attracted to each other and they’ve been best friends since always, so it’s stupid the way they dance around each other. 

 

But she only gets just so much say in the matter. Until she inevitably locks them both in the same storage room for a few hours, that is, because  _ that day is coming _ .

 

“ _ Go, Sara!” _ Beth screams excitedly, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. Her ear-splitting shout is nearly deafening. Beth doesn’t do anything by halves. 

 

Hot guy on second base or not, Jules watches Ellie watch Sara as the girl readies herself for the first pitch. Attractive, sweaty men in uniform are great, but Ellie’s her sister and the painful look of longing that lives on her face whenever Sara’s around distracts Jules to no end. 

 

She can tell from Ellie’s face precisely how Sara’s time at bat is going. 

 

Two balls and one strike later, all of which have Ellie chewing her lip hard enough that Jules is surprised it’s not bleeding, the sound of the bat connecting solidly with that ball cracks through the air and the modest crowd is on its feet. Ellie’s jumping and screaming so loudly that Jules knows it’s a homerun well before she turns to see the ball fly over the back fence and bounce into the street. The excitement spills over into Bokeh who barks excitedly, her tail wagging as she jumps up to lick Beth on the face.

 

Alex and Sara both round the bases to rejoin the rest of their team. Everyone’s celebrating like they’ve just won the world series instead of taking a three run lead in the third inning of a game against the police department. But, hey, it’s for the joy of it, right? Well… joy and bragging rights, anyhow. 

 

As it turns out, those three runs are the only ones of the game. They close out the SCPD when Javi catches a fly ball at the back fence to the roar of cheers from the bleachers. As the team celebrates, Beth climbs the fence all the way to the top, ready to rush the field all on her own and join in her brother’s happiness.

 

That alone has Jules grinning. Will’s joy is infectious and he’s always been good at pulling in those who matter most to him. Like his siblings. 

 

For a second, she flashes back to her own childhood. She’s three and Will’s ten-years-old, sporting a toothy grin and reaching out for her over the top of the fences where her dad held her up. Will had hoisted her onto his shoulders and run her around the bases back then. Jules has never much cared about baseball, but she has  _ always _ cared about her big brother. The memory of her own childish laughter as the wind had caught in her hair and she’d bounced atop Will’s shoulders while he held onto her little legs hits her so hard that, for an instant, she feels like she’s back in that moment all over again. 

 

She’s not surprised in the least when he’s the first one of his team to break away from their celebration to head over to where she, Ellie and Beth are standing. Beth reaches out for him immediately, fully secure in the knowledge that he’ll catch her if she falls. Her brother will always be there for her, and he most certainly is now.

 

“Aren’t you a bit big for this?” he asks, lifting her over the fence and letting out an  _ oof _ as she clings to his neck and wraps her legs around his waist. 

 

“Nope!” she says with a huge grin. “I’m a tiny nine. We’re good for a few years.”

 

“Oh, really?” He laughs, tickling her side as she squeals with delight.

 

“Really!” she counters, attempting - and failing - to tickle him right back. 

 

It’s adorable. Will’s always been great with kids, mostly because he’s still a bit of a child himself. It’s only in the last few months that that joke has seemed a lot less funny. There’s been a serious quality about her big brother since early summer that seems like it’s here to stay. He’s had a rough year, first finding out that the woman he’s been hung up on for ages had gotten married and then briefly thinking he might have knocked-up some girl at QI that he’d had a fling with. It’s prompted some soul-searching in the not-quite thirty-one-year-old. She’s not privy to all of it, of course, but she definitely sees a difference in him now. He’s been quietly reevaluating his life and at this point she’s just waiting for him to come to her with his weightier thoughts. 

 

But that day is not today. 

 

“Run me ‘round the bases, Will!” Beth demands, clinging to his neck with sticky hands. 

 

Will doesn’t seem to care about the tacky remnants of ice cream, though. He just kisses her cheek with a loud smack. “I dunno, Bethy,” he says with an over-exaggerated sigh. “You’re getting so big and it was a long game. Do I really have the energy to run you around now?”

 

Jules snorts. There’s very little that gives him more joy than playing around with his baby sister. He really would make an excellent father. Watching him now, she wonders if he wishes he were, if he wishes that baby really  _ had _ been his in spite of the circumstances. He hasn’t said anything, but she suspects he does. 

 

“Of course you do!” Beth insists, pointing toward the bases. “Put those big, lumpy muscles to good use, mister!” 

 

Ellie barks out a laugh - or maybe at the amused look of disbelief Will’s sporting - but Beth’s ploy clearly works because Will takes off running a second later as his youngest sister’s laughter rings out across the field. 

 

Jules just smiles and shakes her head at them, grateful for the millionth time for the way Will’s joy has the ability to spill out and feel like her own. He has been invaluable to her these past few years. 

 

“Heya, Ellie,” someone says, quickly followed by a salacious, “Legs.”

 

Rollings her eyes, Jules shoots a look to Javi as he closes in on them. It’s an old routine at this point. He’s a flirt to his core, but a harmless one, and Jules has long-enjoyed snarking back at him. 

 

With a smug smile, she counters, “Hey, short-stuff.”

 

“Ohhhh,  _ ouch _ , girlie,” he says, clasping his hands over his heart. “I’m wounded, chica. You got me right here.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Jules replies with a mock-pout. “Need a kiss to make it better?”

 

Javi shrugs. “I mean, if you’re offering I ain’t gonna say no,” he says, leaning in with puckered lips.

 

“Pretty sure Beth’s tall enough to reach,” she responds in a saccharine voice, poking his supposed wound with one finger. 

 

“Oh, that’s just wrong,” Javi says with a scowl as more people join them. “Why you gotta be like that? That’s cold, Legs.”

 

“Oh trust me, I can be plenty warm,” Jules replies, but she’s not looking at Javi as she says it. She’s looking at Alex, her eyes darting up and down his very healthy form as he and Sara join their teammate. “For some people.”

 

Javi makes a choking, sputtering noise as Sara’s eyebrows shoot up. She looks between Alex and Jules like there’s some kind of ping pong match going on in front of her. 

 

“Hi,” Jules greets, tugging her lower lip between her teeth. She ignores the annoyed sigh from Ellie beside her. “I’m Jules.”

 

“I know who you are, Julianna,” Alex replies. 

 

Despite the guarded way he speaks, almost coming off a bit like a warning, his voice is rich and deep. It sends a delightful shiver down Jules’ spine, piquing her interest even more. 

 

“Not well enough,” she tells him with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. 

 

His eyes narrow, but even as he tilts his head away from her, he can’t hide the spark of heat at her challenge. A predatory grin spreads across her face as she holds his gaze. Something about this feels dangerous, screams of trouble, and it shoots a thrill right through her.

 

They stare at each other, neither backing down, and she momentarily forgets anyone else is even there.

 

“I see how it is,” Javi announces, snapping Jules back into the moment. “I get it. You’re a cruel woman, Legs, playin’ us like that.”

 

“Playin’ one of you, anyhow,” Jules retorts, tossing him a look. “And why are you still calling me Legs? I haven’t been a dancer in years.”

 

“Yeah, but you still got them stems, girl,” Javi says, shaking a hand in the air and whistling. 

 

He’s looking her up and down, wiggling his eyebrows in an exaggerated way, but this isn’t new with Javi. It’s a game for him, has been for the last two years or so, and they both know it. 

 

She’s considerably more interested in Alex’s reaction.

 

Jules expects him to at least look, but to her surprise his eyes stay locked on her face. His warm, honey-brown gaze burns hot enough to sear her skin. When his line of sight dips down to her lips, she’s even more surprised when her heart starts pounding a little faster. 

 

Maybe it’s just sex appeal, but it’s been a  _ long _ time since she felt more than a passing attraction toward a man… since she felt the rush of warmth swirling deep inside, tugging at her core. It’s followed by a heated tingle, one she feels all the way from her fingertips to right between her legs. The intensity of it is startling and it throws her. Jules instinctively stands taller, pulling her shoulders back. Still, it is nice to know she can still feel something like this, instead of a passing annoyance at her own body’s craving to sate a basic need.

 

Alex doesn’t miss a single thing and that knowledge pushes her out of her head.

 

“Better not let Will hear you say that,” Alex tells Javi without even looking at him. His eyes stay fixed on her. “He’s not gonna be happy if he hears you makin’ comments about his little sister again.”

 

A delightful tension thickens the air as Jules returns his gaze. Everything else shifts into the background, muffled and dim. But Alex… every single one of her senses hones in on him. The way his tongue darts out to wet his lip, the way that bead of sweat trails down from his baseball cap to the back curve of his jaw, the way his eyes dilate when her breath catches. 

 

The chemistry sizzles and snaps, sets the air on fire around her and she savors the burn as it starts to consume her. 

 

“Will can mind his own business,” Jules says, her voice low. “I’m not a little girl anymore.”

 

Alex says nothing, but his face speaks volumes. He’s wary, most definitely, but there’s also desire brimming just beneath the surface. It’s so close that she wonders what would happen if she closed the distance between them, what he would do if she reached up and followed the line where that bead of sweat had fallen. Her fingers itch to do just that and the look in his eyes tells her that his desire would boil up and spill over. 

 

Jules could not possibly be more alight at this idea if she tried. 

 

“Yeah, this is gonna go  _ so well _ ,” Sara mumbles. Ellie grunts in agreement. 

 

“No, you are not,” Javi declares, stepping back and taking her in. “You’re all woman, Legs.” 

 

_ Yes, I am. _

 

Alex’s nostrils flare, and she wonders if he’s thinking the same thing.

 

The smack upside the back of Javi’s head surprises Jules, only because she hadn’t noticed her brother returning. An aggravated look of annoyance twists Will’s face and he grabs ahold of Javi’s ear and tugs him off to the side as the other man shouts, “Hey, man, I wanna keep that ear. I’m just playin’. You know that, bro.” 

 

His words do nothing to dissuade Will, though, who’s more than happy to haul him off and chew him out. Beth clearly finds it entertaining and follows in Will’s wake to watch as he puts Javi in his place. 

 

Jules is less than amused, watching them go with a furrowed brow. Her big brother has always had a protective streak with his siblings, but it’s definitely gotten worse with her specifically since Jackson died. It’s  _ exhausting _ . She’s tired of being treated like a child, and she doesn’t need anyone to be acting like she’s breakable. 

 

For one thing, it assumes she’s whole to start with. 

 

She’s not. 

 

“You gonna go get in the middle of that and save Javi’s hide?” Sara asks Alex, watching as Will lays into Javi for a moment before glancing up at her squad leader. 

 

“Nope,” Alex says. “I’m off the clock and they gotta figure out how to work out their own issues sooner or later.”

 

“Sure,” Sara drawls. “That’s it.”

 

“It’ll pass,” Alex replies. “Javi’s gonna cave. Today’s the happiest Will’s been in a long while. He isn’t gonna wanna ruin that.”

 

That centers Jules more than anything could as Sara hums her agreement, both of them casting another look toward the two men. Sure enough, Javi’s hands are up in a sign of surrender as he lets Will give him a piece of his mind. 

 

“Maybe his next year will be better,” Ellie adds quietly. 

 

“It better be,” Jules agrees, her tone suggesting she’ll take on anyone or anything that hurts her big brother again. 

 

In some ways, they’re very much the same. Both she and Will would do anything to keep the other from suffering. 

 

“You’re coming to his party, right?” Sara asks, suddenly drawing Jules’ attention back to their little group. 

 

“Party?” Jules asks. 

 

“Surprise birthday party at my place,” Alex clarifies. 

 

“Pool party?” Jules asks, raising an eyebrow at him. Surprise flits across his handsome features and suddenly she’s back in the moment as if nothing had happened. A sense of victory races through Jules’ veins at the idea that she’s thrown him. “Beth might’ve mentioned you have one.”

 

“Ah.” He nods. “Yeah. I’m throwin’ a carne asada… Like a barbeque,” he clarifies at her blank look. “We’ll grill some food, play some music. There’s the pool if anyone wants. Real low-key. Just a dozen of us. You should come… You mean a lot to him.”

 

“On his birthday?” she asks. 

 

“Saturday after,” Alex replies. “The tenth. People are showing up around one. Will thinks he’s comin’ over to help me put up some drywall in the basement around two.” 

 

“Text me your address and I’ll be there,” Jules responds. 

 

“Gimme your number and I’ll text you,” Alex counters, a playful smirk pulling at his lips. 

 

And,  _ oh, _ that sets Jules’ senses buzzing with delight.

 

“If you wanted my number all you had to do was ask,” she quips back playfully. 

 

She can’t even be bothered to pay attention to the groan of frustration from Ellie or the noise of pained disbelief from Sara. She doesn’t notice when Beth darts back over or Javi and Will head back, neither of them worse for wear. No, she’s too wrapped up in  _ this _ , too entranced by the way Alex seems to catch himself, the way his lips thin as he blows some air through them and shakes his head at her. 

 

This is trouble and she knows it.

 

But maybe it’s exactly the type she’s looking for. 


	4. Chapter 4

 

“ _ If this is the one you want, Julie, it’s yours _ .”

 

His voice is distant in tonight’s dream, like it’s muffled by time and space. But she can still feel the way his arms wrap around her and the warmth of his mouth pressing against her shoulder. 

 

“ _ But you liked the two bedroom uptown _ ,” she points out, reciting the script exactly as it had played out. 

 

“ _ I like  _ you.” He grins against her skin. “ _ And if you’re happy, then I’m happy _ .  _ Where we live doesn’t matter. As long as you’re there too, it’ll be home. _ ”

 

His affection overwhelms her and a little bubble of joy bursts in her chest as she turns and looks at him. Their apartment materializes around her, just as it had been after they’d moved in. His photos and her art mingle on the walls, one of his pictures flickering in and out of reality. Her dance shoes hang near the door and she can see all of his cameras on the shelf above their coats in the front closet. Bokeh and her beloved old German Shepherd, Buster, nap together on an oversized dog bed next to the TV. 

 

But even in this dream, she knows it isn’t real. It isn’t  _ now _ . And it won’t last, as much as she’d give anything to stay here.

 

“ _ I love you, _ ” she whispers, pressing her lips to his. “ _ I miss you. _ ”

 

But it’s a deviation from the script and in spite of touching her mouth to his, all she feels is air. 

 

“ _ I love you, too, Julie _ ,” he tells her. 

 

For an instant, hearing that from him again - even like this, even knowing it’s not real - makes her feel like she’s floating. 

 

Until she comes crashing down. 

 

“ _ That’s why I died _ .”

 

Her eyes snap open and she locks eyes with him. “ _ What _ ?” 

 

“ _ I’d still be alive if I hadn’t loved you so much _ ,” he tells her, his voice hard, unflinching. “ _ Or if you’d loved me enough not to hide things from me _ .”

 

“ _ No _ ,” she protests, the word clogging up her throat. 

 

“ _ Maybe then I’d have gotten to give you that ring you found in my sock drawer, huh _ ?” 

 

_ “Jackson…” _ she whispers. His name hurts. Saying it feels like she’s carving out a hole in her own chest. But it’s his that’s bleeding, she realizes suddenly as a bloom of sticky red blood spreads across his shirt, staining hers in turn.

 

_ “It’s okay, Julie,” _ he tells her as the color drains from his face. “ _ I loved you enough for both of us.” _

 

Jules wakes with a start, a sob already on her lips, tears clinging to her lashes. His words settle over her like a suffocating blanket and she can’t breathe, can’t stop shaking. 

 

It’s not the dream that woke her, though. No, it’s the steady vibration of her cell phone somewhere on her nightstand.

 

Struggling to calm her racing heart, Jules roots around next to her bed in the dark, happening upon it by chance. She fumbles to answer it with a hoarse, “ _ Yeah _ ?” before rubbing her eyes and exhaling a shuddering breath.

 

It’s her mother that answers. 

 

“Honey… I think we’ve got something.”

 

That’s all she needs.

 

“I’ll be right there.”

 

She can’t escape her bed quickly enough. It’s pitch black outside and she scrambles to turn on a light. As she pulls on clothes and toes on the first pair of shoes she can find, she avoids looking at the bed, skirting around it to grab her keys. Anything to distance herself from her own dreams. It’s been three days since the ballgame and this is the first night she hasn’t thoroughly drained herself with vigilantism in a week. She needs it, she finds. Nothing provides a better distraction than Arrow business. It demands her whole focus, doesn’t leave room for anything else.

 

For anyone else.

 

Jules is fast, getting to headquarters about fifteen minutes after her phone rang, but everyone else beats her there. 

 

She’s not surprised to see them, not until she sees Will leaning against the large glass table with a severe and exhausted look. His presence makes her do a double-take. Never particularly comfortable with vigilantism, he only shows up for the big things. Nate, too, surprises her with his presence. He’s just a high schooler, completely removed from Team Arrow business, but he’s standing uneasily next to Ellie, looking tired and torn. There’s a tension about him that she hasn’t seen for a while.

 

This is big, she realizes.

 

Her heart jumps in anticipation, nervous energy flooding her veins like it always does when Team Arrow converges to take someone down.

 

“What’ve we got?” she asks, announcing her presence and getting down to business at the same time. 

 

Despite a very full room and an issue pressing enough that her mom called everyone to the lair at four in the morning, no one speaks. It’s only when Will stands straight up and gives her a piercing, wary look that the dots connect in her head. 

 

This isn’t a big Team Arrow thing. 

 

This is a big  _ her _ thing. 

 

Jules inhales too quickly as her insides turn to stone. They sink all as one, making her feel like the room is pitching, taking her with it. All the blood rushes from her face. For an instant, she isn’t in her body, which is why the panic that suddenly seizes her chest feels weirdly far away as the eyes of every person in the room press down on her.

 

Her dad’s at her side in an instant, lending an arm of support in the most literal sense. 

 

“You’re okay,” he says softly. “Deep breath, kiddo. You’re gonna want your head in the game for this.”

 

He’s right. She will. She  _ does _ .

 

Jules moves to speak, but her voice is gone, so all she does is nod.

 

She doesn’t pull away from her father and he doesn’t move an inch.

 

“Digg, you and Lyla wanna take the kids and run through a few drills real fast?” Felicity asks him. It’s a flimsy excuse for a distraction and Jules knows immediately that it’s done for her benefit. 

 

“Sure, Felicity,” Digg says, nodding at her with a small smile, before tilting his head toward the mats. “Nothing like a pre-dawn sparring session to get you ready for the day, right, guys?”

 

Ellie hesitates, but when Sara moves, so does she. She follows, taking a second to shoot Jules a mournful glance as a tightly grim-faced Nate trails along with Connor and Eric, following in Digg and Lyla’s footsteps. Somehow, that only makes the choking sensation worse and Jules finds herself taking carefully measured breaths and looking down at her toes. 

 

“Will, stick with me,” Felicity says quietly. Her mom’s voice is barely loud enough for Jules to hear, but the words ring in her head anyhow. 

 

“Yeah, I’m not going anywhere,” Will confirms. 

 

Jules hears their footfalls closing in on her but she doesn’t look up. In some ways, she’s absolutely itching to know what they’ve found, to have any kind of clue that leads to some sense of closure about Jackson’s death. 

 

But in others… 

 

She’s not ready. She doesn’t think she’ll ever be ready. And talking about it aloud, putting it all into words, makes her wounds feel fresh all over again.

 

And they are. The pain rips through her chest with enough force to make her gasp.

 

“Hey,” Will says. He sets a hand on her shoulder, squeezing her tightly. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

 

“Liar,” she accuses in a near whisper, finally daring to look up. 

 

It’s true and he knows it, the pained smile he offers her says as much. Nothing will ever be okay again. Not for her. Not  _ really _ . Any chance of that died on a dark street corner two blocks from her old apartment nearly three years ago. 

 

“Let’s sit down, honey,” her mom urges, tilting her head toward the table. 

 

Her feet feel like they’re made of lead, but she drags herself forward and takes a seat. 

 

It’s sort of amazing how she can go from Tempest, confident team member - team  _ leader _ at times - to a sad, lost little girl in no time flat. And it pisses her off. Jules latches onto the sudden burst of anger. She’s so damned tired of the lack of control, of the way she can fall to pieces at no more than a suggestion and a knowing look. 

 

This needs to end - she needs  _ closure _ \- because living like this…

 

It isn’t living at all.

 

She squeezes her hands into tight fists, taking a measure of solace from the bite of her nails digging into her palms.

 

“Jules, I don’t have answers you’ll like,” her mother starts off, sitting across from her. Her father and brother sit on either side of her like bodyguards, set to protect her with their lives. Too bad nothing that’s coming is something they can shield her from.

 

“But you’ve got  _ something _ ,” Jules points out, her voice uneven. “You’ve got some kind of clue or this wouldn’t be…” She sighs and looks around the room. Even those who aren’t watching her are deeply aware of her presence, keyed into what she’s doing. “It wouldn’t be  _ this _ .”

 

Her mom glances at her father, like maybe she’s looking for affirmation or possibly strength. Jules steels herself against whatever’s coming next and holds her head up high as her brother rubs her back gently. 

 

“Tell me,” Jules demands. “Tell me what you found.”

 

Her mother doesn’t want to speak, that much is immediately clear, and Jules knows that whatever they’ve found isn’t good. The tension in her mother’s frame, the war that plays out across her face, only makes the knot of anxiety tighten in the pit of Jules’ stomach. It’s worse when Felicity reaches over and takes Jules’ hands, forcing her to let go of her fists.

 

“We found-” her father starts off before her mother cuts him off. 

 

“We found a body,” she says, needing to get the words out herself. Her hands tighten around Jules’, holding onto her tightly. “Or a work crew did when they broke ground for the new QI manufacturing plant yesterday.”

 

Jules freezes at that, watching her mother warily, because so far she doesn’t see how this adds up. Everyone she loves is right here in this room. The back of her neck prickles with awareness; she  _ knows _ Ellie and Nate are both staring at her, waiting for some kind of reaction. 

 

“Whose body?” she demands. When her mother hesitates, Jules follows up with, “Mom,  _ tell me _ .”

 

“Matteo Moretti,” Felicity replies. The name means absolutely nothing at all to Jules. She’s never even heard it. 

 

But her blood runs cold at what comes next. 

 

“We think he’s Jackson’s killer.”

 

Jules snatches her hands back before she knows she’s moving. Her pulse roars in her ears as all the air is sucked out of her lungs.  _ Jackson’s killer. _ She can’t think, can’t  _ breathe _ . Everything sounds like it’s happening at the other end of a long tunnel and the edges of her vision blur until she’s not sure if she’s even looking at anything at all. 

 

“Hey. Jules.” 

 

It’s her father’s voice. He’s turned her chair to face him and he’s got both of his cool, large palms cupping her face. He’s right in front of her, but she’s scarcely even aware of his eyes searching hers, trying to connect with her in some way, much less that he’s talking.

 

“ _ Julie. _ ” His tone is sharp and it snaps at her like a whip, ricocheting around her head like a crack of thunder that hits far too close. Her lungs burn and eyes water, flood-levels ready to spill over and drown her in their depths. “Breathe,” her father commands. “Breathe, Jules.”

 

It takes her a long time to remember how to even do that, but then suddenly she does. It’s a long, strained inhale that makes her body shake and her chest hurt, and it’s only then that she realizes how long she’d been holding her breath.

 

“Good. Another,” her dad insists again. It comes a little easier this time, but she wants to exhale that breath in a scream, in a denial that rocks the foundation of their words.

 

_ We think he’s Jackson’s killer. _

 

Jackson’s killer can’t be dead. He  _ can’t _ . She needs justice. Needs to see that man suffer for what he’s done. She needs closure. She needs to kill him herself. And if he’s already dead…

 

“It’s not him,” she grits out in a voice so quiet that had anyone not been listening for her to speak, she’d have surely gone unheard.

 

“Honey,” her mom says, her voice thick and so painfully apologetic that Jules wants to shout at her to stop. It’s too much. “There’s only one reason I wouldn’t be able to find someone for three years. You’ve got to know that.”

 

Jules slams her eyes shut and tries to block out the truth of her mother’s words. But somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows her mom is right. Maybe she’s always known it. There is no one in this world better up to the task of finding someone who doesn’t want to be found. Most of the time, her mom can find someone within an hour. It doesn’t matter where in the world they are or what they’re doing. She can pinpoint their location as easily as most people can find their own shoes. 

 

To take three years… 

 

_ No. _

 

“How can you possibly know it’s him?” Jules demands. The level of comfort she’s being surrounded with suddenly makes her skin feel like it’s crawling and she stands abruptly, backing away from her parents and brother. The pity in their eyes and the gentleness in their voices is too much. She wants rage. She wants  _ fury.  _ She needs it. Everything else hurts far too much. “He could be anyone. Who the hell is this Moretti guy?” 

 

“Low-level Italian mob,” her father tells her. He stands, too. Like her, he’s never done well with inaction in the face of frustration. 

 

“The Italian mob has been, like, three guys in the back of a pizza parlor talking about their glory days for years while Domino’s boys muscle in on their turf,” Jules snaps. Her hands ball into fists again and she crosses her arms in front of herself, half out of self-preservation and half to restrain herself from hitting anyone. 

 

“Judging by the rate of decomposition and the last charges to his credit cards, Moretti’s been dead just as long,” Felicity tells her. 

 

“How long?” Jules demands. 

 

“Best guess?” Felicity asks. “I think he died the same night Jackson did.”

 

It’s a body-blow to Jules, who staggers back a step with her mind reeling. Nearly three years looking for justice, trying to make her lover’s killer pay for his sins and he’s been dead the whole time. 

 

“How do you know it’s him?” she demands. “For years we’ve been trying to figure out who our attackers were.  _ Years _ . And now you not only know who it was that killed Jackson, but also that he’s dead and when he died and -  _ oh  _ \- also we have his corpse?”

 

“His injuries fit, honey,” her father says. “He was part of organized crime, the right height and weight. He died at the same time and all of his injuries fit. It’s circumstantial, but it fits.”

 

“You’re basing this on the injuries of a body that’s been decomposing for three years?” Jules says with a pained laugh. It strains her voice as she snaps, “Are you serious?” 

 

“Do you really want the science behind it?” her mother asks. Her tone is so certain, so mournful, that it feels like a fresh wound all over again. 

 

“Enough to convince me,” Jules replies, in spite of her better judgment. She’s stubborn to a fault and she’d give anything to prove her mother wrong just this once. 

 

But just from the way her mom sighs before speaking, she knows that won’t be happening. 

 

“Concrete contains a lot of limestone,” she starts. “Lime draws moisture out of a body and mummifies it. Poorly, because  _ wow  _ is it bad for skin, but it does. There was more than enough evidence left of his fight against you and definitely enough to positively ID him. He even still had cufflinks from DiAugusto’s. You probably don’t remember, but they made suits pretty exclusively for the Bertinelli family. It’s Moretti. And…” Felicity pauses, and that hurts almost as much as a knife slicing through Jules’ chest. “We have plenty of evidence to point toward him being Jackson’s killer, honey. I’m sorry. I’m  _ so _ sorry.”

 

“No… no, it’s not…” Jules wants to rage, wants to fight against the very idea, but reality does not bend to her will. “It’s not  _ fair _ !” she shouts. She feels like a child even as she says it. Life isn’t fair. She’s known this for a very long time. But to be denied this, to have the opportunity to avenge Jackson stripped away from her, to find it’s been a futile pursuit from the very start… That feels like a whole new level of cruelty and she is in no way, shape or form prepared for it. “He needs to pay. He needs to answer for what he did. To Jackson. To  _ me _ . I deserve to see him held accountable for his crimes.”

 

“Sweetheart… he already has answered for what he did,” her mom says helplessly. “He paid for his crimes years ago. We just didn’t know it until now.”

 

Facing the truth of that is the last straw. She needs an outlet for her fury, for her own inability to achieve absolutely anything, and before she realizes it she has someone’s coffee mug in hand and she’s throwing it against the wall with a gut-wrenching cry of anger. 

 

She is all pain, entirely overtaken by a rage she cannot temper as she grabs another cup, throwing it even harder. The shatter of the porcelain isn’t satisfying enough, but there’s nothing left to throw. Instead, she kicks the chair she’d been sitting in, forcing Felicity and Will to get up before it hits them.

 

It’s not their fault, she shouldn’t be taking this out on them, and she almost wants them to tell her that, to yell at her, to join her in her rage.

 

But, as they have been for years, her parents are unfailingly supportive. This time literally. Her dad wraps her in his arms. She shoves at him, needing to fight, but he doesn’t let go, doesn’t give in, and she finally collapses against him. He doesn’t let her fall, just like she knew he wouldn’t. He keeps her upright, holding her tight.

 

“I wanted to kill him,” she says, her voice dripping with venom. It’s scarcely above a whisper and only meant for his ears. Of all the people in the world, her father is the last who would judge her for this. She digs her nails into his arms, gritting her teeth. “I wanted to watch him die and have him know it was me who did it.” 

 

He pauses, kissing the top of her head and sighing into her hair. “I know,” he answers after a moment. “I know, but I’m glad you didn’t.”

 

“I deserve it,” she insists into his chest. “I deserve to see him die for what he did.”

 

“What you deserve,” he says, pulling back to catch her eye. She can’t avoid his gaze. He won’t let her. “... is to live your life free of that stain on your soul. Taking a life never makes up for losing another one and it doesn’t bring the peace you think it does. No one deserves that. Especially not you.”

 

She’s not convinced. Mostly because she doesn’t care. Not right now. 

 

“Who killed him?” someone asks. “And what about the other attackers?” 

 

It’s Will’s voice and the sharp edge of his question cuts through the air like a knife, sending her head spinning in a flurry of questions. For the first time since she found out about Moretti’s body, there is some glimmer of her quest left to hold onto and she finds herself grasping at it with both hands. 

 

“And  _ why _ ?” Jules demands, glancing between both of her parents. The look they give each other tells her that they’ve already had this conversation and that they share a suspicion. That’s not surprising. Her parents are generally on the same page. 

 

“Can we sit back down?” her dad asks. 

 

She appreciates it being presented as a choice, but she’s also exhausted all of a sudden. She nods and they head back to the table to take the seat across from her mother. Will immediately grips her hand supportively and she squeezes back, a sign that she’s okay… or something near it. 

 

“That night was one of the worst of my life,” her mom recalls, staring blankly at Jules and Will’s clasped hands. “Right up there with losing the first Ellie and that day both of you girls were kidnapped.”

 

“I know,” Jules confirms. She might’ve ultimately lost the most out of everyone in their family, but there’s no doubting the sense of panic that had swamped the Queens that night. 

 

“When that burner phone called the  _ lair _ …” Felicity breathes out, shaking her head as she reminisces. “When that voice said someone was coming for the Arrow’s children and nothing else… and then when I couldn’t trace it and your father raced to save Nate and I couldn’t get ahold of you, Jules…”

 

“I should’ve answered my phone,” Jules whispers, shaking her head, saying the words she’s thought a million times. “It’s my fault. If I had just-”

 

“Stop,” her father instructs. “You had no way of knowing. You were on a date enjoying time alone with your boyfriend. No one blames you for declining a call from your parents and turning off your ringer. You were at a photography exhibit, Jules, not ducking our calls.”

 

“But-”

 

“No,” he cuts her off. “You have to stop thinking that way. It’ll eat you apart and it does no good. Do you understand me?”

 

His gaze is heavy and she feels like she doesn’t have an option to agree, so she nods. She doesn’t feel it, though, not in her soul. Every inch of her being tells her that she deserves the blame for Jackson’s death and there is no one left who can absolve her of that.

 

“We didn’t know where to focus first,” Felicity recites, clearly lost in the memory. “Will was at work and Ellie was at college, living in the dorms. Nate was doing school work at the library and his phone was off.”

 

“Sending dad to Nate first made sense,” Jules says. Even at her worst, she’s known that. She has never resented her little brother for being the focus of their father’s attention that night. “And honestly thank God you did.”

 

“Yeah,” Felicity agrees, looking over toward the group that’s supposedly sparring. It’s extremely half-hearted. “If we hadn’t had warning…”

 

“But we did,” Will points out. “Dad got there in time and got him covered. None of the shots hit anyone, Felicity. He’s  _ fine _ . All four of us are, okay?” 

 

She nods and swallows hard, trying to force the truth of that to settle inside her. It’s hard, though. Jules can see that much. The age-old fear for her children’s safety rears its head again, sending a surge of barely-controlled panic through her. 

 

“I can’t quite explain to you what it feels like to know someone out there is trying to kill all four of your children,” Felicity says in a quiet voice with an ashen face. Jules doesn’t have to look to know that her father is holding her mom’s hand beneath the table. “To not know who or why and feel like nothing you do is fast enough, nothing’s  _ good  _ enough. Getting ahold of Will was easy enough. He was at work and I hijacked his engine’s radio signal. Nate was a near miss, thanks to your father, and Ellie wound up saving herself. But you… baby, I’ve never been as terrified in my life as I was when your father finally found you and the first sound I heard over the comms was your scream. I thought… I thought…”

 

“I know, Mom,” Jules replies hoarsely. “I know. But I’m fine. I was fine because Jackson saw it first. Because he put himself between me and that knife.”

 

“That boy was a hero,” Felicity breathes out. “He was  _ my _ hero. And I wish I’d had a chance to tell him that, to thank him for saving my little girl. He deserved better than what happened to him. And, Julie-bug, so did you.”

 

Jules nods, her throat clogging up yet again. 

 

“I don’t think I stopped being terrified for six months after that,” Felicity adds, with a humorless laugh. “That someone came after my children, set on killing them, and then just… disappeared. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for someone else to pop out of the woodwork and come after you guys. But it never happened.”

 

“Now we know why,” Will says. “Because he died, too.”

 

“Moretti was a fall guy,” Oliver replies. “A hired gun. We know there were men sent after all of you guys. Moretti was the only one who had any kind of success. But Felicity and I don’t think he was the one calling the shots.”

 

Her father’s words buzz in her ears so loud that she almost doesn’t understand them. “What?” 

 

“I think the work crew for QI is going to find three more bodies in that concrete before they’re done tearing it up. I think all four people set after my children paid for it with their lives,” he tells her evenly. “Whoever hired them didn’t want a trail.”

 

“Then the person ultimately responsible for Jackson’s death might still be alive,” Jules insists. Her parents trade a look she doesn’t really like, but Jules presses on. “Whoever ordered a hit on us is the  _ reason _ Moretti killed Jackson. And they can still be held accountable.”

 

“I think…” her mother replies in a measured voice. “I think we need more information before we know exactly who can be held responsible for what.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Jules asks, utterly aghast. 

 

“Jackson was never the target, honey,” Felicity points out. 

 

“No,” Jules snaps. “He was collateral damage. But that doesn’t mean whoever ordered the hit isn’t to blame for his death.  _ That person _ set the wheels in motion.  _ That person _ is the one who killed him. Moretti was just the knife they did it with.”

 

“Why didn’t they try again?” Will wonders aloud. “If you’re right, if we were the targets, they failed four times over and got away scott-free. Why not come after us again?”

 

“The only reason I can think of - unless the person who orchestrated all of this is dead, too - is that they got whatever they were after and hurting you guys no longer mattered to them,” Oliver replies. 

 

“So what were they after then?” Jules asks. “How do we find out who they are?” 

 

“Jules,” her mom sighs. It’s a bone-deep, heavy noise of frustrated resignation. “Honey, we have no idea.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

In the days that follow the discovery of Moretti’s body, Oliver’s prediction proves true. 

 

The QI work crew finds three other bodies buried in concrete lain three years ago in the foundation of a partially-built structure on land that’s been owned by their family company for decades. It feels like a slap in the face that Jackson’s killer has been under their noses all this time, but Jules has had to force herself not to think about that. 

 

In fact, she’s had to force herself not to think about anything at all. 

 

They’ve only managed to identify one of the other bodies so far, but he’s another former low-level mobster from the now-defunct Bertinelli clan. Her dad’s told her to expect the same from the other two. And, she has more than enough trust in him to believe he’s right. 

 

But it answers nothing. In fact, it brings up more questions than before. All four of the former hitmen were killed with a single bullet to the head, execution-style, and there’s absolutely nothing her mom has been able to find linking the gun used to any other crimes. It’s infuriating to say the least and after nearly a week of letting her frustration fester, Jules just really needs to  _ not think _ . 

 

Will’s birthday party could not possibly come at a better time. 

 

The idea of cutting loose is beyond appealing at this point. And the notion of having a few beers, swimming and dancing the afternoon away… 

 

She’s craving that more than she could have anticipated. 

 

It would be a lie to say she wasn’t looking forward to seeing the party’s host, too. Flirting with a blisteringly hot guy, angling for the promise of more, for a little slice of bliss found between sweat-stained sheets?  Well, that’s got Jules’ excitement level up a bit, too. 

 

As always, she shoves down thoughts of Jackson when she considers her plans. It still feels like she’s betraying him when she does this. But she tells herself that it’s fine, that it doesn’t matter because neither does sex. Not the way she’s having it these days, anyhow. She’s not looking for a partner, for someone to develop an actual relationship with. All she wants is a rush of endorphins and hormones as she loses herself in someone else’s body for a bit. 

 

When she thinks about it that way, when it seems like nothing more than a regrettable vice she escapes to in order to cope with her daily life, it doesn’t seem quite so much like she’s being disloyal. 

 

Alex lives just two blocks down from Javi’s house, so she parks at his place and walks to the party. The fewer recognizable cars near Alex’s place, the better the odds that Will doesn’t see his surprise party coming. 

 

It’s sweltering still, as it has been for months, and she’s grateful that Alex has a pool because she could absolutely use a dip to cool off by the end of her trek through his neighborhood. Her sheer bathing suit cover-up clings to her skin and even the cool fabric of her white linen shorts does nothing to temper the heat. They do, however, look awfully damned good on her. She’d known that before leaving her house, of course, but it’s reinforced fantastically when she rings Alex’s doorbell and he pulls open the door. 

 

He freezes, eyes skimming down her form seemingly of their own accord. Jules can’t help but smirk in triumph. There’s something incredibly satisfying about the look on his face, about how easy it is to draw a reaction from him. That thought is only reinforced when his gaze finds her again and the muscles in his jaw tighten as he clenches his teeth.

 

When he doesn’t move, she holds out a six-pack of beer for him to take as she asks in a low, teasing voice, “You gonna invite me in?” 

 

The only verbal response he makes is a grunt that probably means  _ hello _ or  _ welcome _ or  _ so glad you’re here _ as he steps back, pulling the door open wide to let her in, giving her a wide berth. 

 

Javi, however, is a whole lot more vocal. 

 

“ _ Damn _ , Legs!” He whistles, watching her from Alex’s kitchen. “Is it my birthday, too, or what?”

 

“I dunno, Javi,” she replies with a shrug and a wince. “I never bothered to find out.”

 

He protests, of course, but it quickly falls on deaf ears as she looks around.

 

A person’s home tells you a lot about who they are and Alex’s is an intriguing blend of masculine and inviting, traditional and modern. Somehow the blocky lines of his probably-IKEA sofa mesh well with the colorful handwoven blanket tossed over the back of it and nothing about his marble countertop clashes in the least with the painted tile backsplash or the terracotta floors. She likes it. It’s warm and comfortable with a lot of character, a far cry from the bachelor pad she’d expected. 

 

“Nice place,” she tells Alex, tossing a look over her shoulder in his direction.

 

“It’s home,” he answers, finally finding his voice and walking past her toward the kitchen to put the beer in the fridge.

 

It’s dismissive, but where someone else would’ve taken offense, Jules just smiles. She’s not fooled for a second by the cool reception. His back is ramrod straight as he grips the six-pack like it’s trying to break away from him before he tosses it into the fridge.

 

He feels this attraction just as much as she does. He just wishes he didn’t. 

 

“Party’s out back,” Javi tells her, tilting his head toward the wide-open back door. “Sara and Ellie were makin’ teams for volleyball a minute ago.”

 

“Please,” Jules snorts. “I know better than to go up against either of them at volleyball. Did that exactly once and wound up with more bruises than when Ellie and I kickbox.”

 

“You kickbox?” Alex asks, quirking a surprised eyebrow at her.

 

Something flutters in her stomach at his interest. She shoots him a playful smile. “I’m a girl with a lot of hidden talents.”

 

Alex hums, looking less than amused at her flirting. That doesn’t stop his eyes from following the lines of her body before he looks back at her. Jules doesn’t even have to try as her smile turns a little sultry.

 

“Yeah…” Javi says slowly, looking between the two of them. It honestly takes Jules a moment to notice because she’s so busy having whatever silent conversation she and Alex are engaging in. “I’m gonna be… not in the middle of this. Might wanna chill before Will gets here, though. ‘Cause, like, your big bro’s gonna pop that vein in his forehead if he sees you bein’ all sex kitten with his best friend.”

 

Jules laughs. “ _ Sex kitten _ ?” 

 

“You know what you’re doin’, Jules,” he says. He looks way the hell more serious than usual and for once he doesn’t call her Legs. She’s not sure what to do with that. “You too, bro,” Javi adds, looking toward Alex.

 

The only response that comes from Alex is the flare of his nostrils.

 

Jules isn’t all that surprised. He seems like a guy of few words, or at least one who measures what he wants to say before he says it. Javi’s out the door with a beer in hand and a boisterous, “ _ I have returned! _ ” a moment later. There’s a rush of laughter that follows and a giant splash, but Jules’ focus is honed in on Alex. 

 

She’s not all that interested in what’s going on out back.

 

Neither, apparently, is Alex. He tries to be, she can tell that much, but he doesn’t move, not until she sidles up next to him where he stands at the counter. All he does is grip the countertop edge as he watches her, though. The gaze that settles over her is heavy, searching, and she finds she enjoys being under his scrutiny very much. 

 

“Want a beer?” he asks after a minute. 

 

“Sure,” she agrees. She doesn’t even think about it when she hops up on his countertop like she’s at home. Jules has always had a way of possessing the space she occupies. 

 

“Got a preference?” he asks. There’s no objection in his eyes as he watches her perched atop his counter. 

 

“Nothing watery,” she requests. “Other than that… whatever.”

 

He nods as he pulls open the fridge. He scans the selection before grabbing a bottle of something she’s never heard of. They’re dead silent as he unscrews the cap for her, but she’s pretty sure he puts more muscle into it than required. She’s not complaining. His biceps are a hell of a thing to take in and she’s more than enjoying the view. 

 

When he hands her the drink, she takes a long, slow swig from the bottle, all the while keeping her eyes fixed on him. She swipes her tongue across her lips to chase the taste of the beer, humming because it’s actually pretty damned good. 

 

He’s thoughtful and silent as he watches her. It only makes her more curious about what, precisely, he’s thinking. 

 

“Complex,” she notes, nodding toward the beer before setting the bottle down next to her. 

 

“Yes,” he agrees, “you are.”

 

“Me?” she asks. 

 

He leans against the counter just inches from her with a low, “Yeah, you, Julianna.”

 

She shrugs. “I’m just a girl interested in a guy.” Jules stares at him. “That’s all.”

 

“Ain’t nothing ‘just’ about you,” he counters. 

 

“You sure know how to flatter a girl,” she tells him, wrinkling her nose and leaning in a little. 

 

“That what I’m doing?” Alex leans in a little too close and the buzz of electricity that suddenly charges the air makes her feel blessedly  _ alive _ .

 

“I think we both know  _ exactly _ what you’re doing,” she says, hovering just a few inches from him. 

 

He holds her gaze, not backing off, but not moving forward, both of them stuck in this moment. 

 

It feels like gravity, like an inevitable pull that they can only fight for just so long. And Jules  _ loves _ it. She loves everything about it - the heat, the tension, the ever-present  _ want _ . It’s been so long since she’s felt anything like this, since honest desire coiled in her belly and left her heart fluttering and her skin buzzing. She intends to savor this for all its worth. And these days, this level of distraction is worth  _ a lot _ . 

 

Footsteps break the moment and the sense of loss is jarring. Jules blinks, inhaling sharply as Alex abruptly turns to stare at the side of his refrigerator. 

 

Ellie trots into the room a second later and stops, staring at the pair of them with wide eyes. “I was just gonna grab a couple more beers…” she ventures. 

 

“Go for it,” Alex instructs, pushing off the counter and standing ramrod straight before rubbing his nose. “We good on snacks out there?”

 

“Totally fine,” Ellie nods. “You two need anything in here? Cold spray from the hose, maybe?”

 

“ _ Ellie. _ ” 

 

For all that she loves her sister, she could absolutely kill her at the moment. 

 

“Kidding!” Ellie replies. “Totally kidding. But hey, Jules, can I talk to you for a minute?”

 

It takes all of her willpower to not glare at her sister as she says, “Yeah, sure.”

 

Jules hops off the counter, but her knees are suddenly made of Jell-O and she stumbles. 

 

And then Alex is there, his hand grabbing her elbow, steadying her. His touch is hot, his callused fingers digging into her. Her eyes fly to his face to find him every bit as surprised by the contact as she is. He blinks fiercely, like he’s trying to clear his head, trying to push down some mixture of panic and attraction before he pulls his hand away as if she’s burned him. 

 

“Thanks,” she says quietly, watching him intensely. 

 

He doesn’t look back. 

 

“Yeah,” he acknowledges, reaching for the beer he’d left nearby. Like he needs to do something with his hands. He leans against the counter, taking a quick drink, once again staring at the refrigerator.

 

Jules picks up her own beer, and just can’t help herself. She turns, making sure the back of her fingers drag down the length of his forearm before she heads in Ellie’s direction. There’s no mistaking the deep, strained noise he makes from behind her but he says nothing and when she glances back at him as she follows Ellie outside, the look he’s giving her is flat-out dangerous. 

 

And  _ exciting _ . 

 

“So…” Ellie says, savoring the taste of the word. “ _ You’re  _ in a better mood.”

 

Jules puts off replying for a minute or two by greeting some of the others hanging around the yard. There are maybe fifteen people there, mostly firefighters and, in some cases, their partners. There’s also one really uneasy looking girl nursing a bottle of beer with both hands and bopping awkwardly to some music. 

 

“Who’s that?” Jules asks. 

 

Ellie sighs. “The girl Will’s seeing.”

 

“Seriously?” Jules asks, eyes snapping to her sister. 

 

“Yeah, for like… I don’t know, three weeks maybe?” Ellie tells her, looking past Jules toward the clearly uncomfortable woman. “I’m sorta surprised they invited her. She seems nice and all, but this has gotta be awkward for her. She met Sara, like,  _ once _ and that’s it. She doesn’t know anyone else here.” 

 

“Why does she look familiar?” Jules asks, studying the other woman. 

 

“Because she looks uncomfortably like Allison,” Ellie informs her flatly.

 

Recognition dawns and Jules’ eyes fly to her sister’s face before looking back at the girl. “Holy shit, she does,” she agrees, appraising her anew. She’s not as curvy and she has none of the other woman’s confident air, but the resemblance to Will’s only serious girlfriend is undeniable. It’s in the shape of her cheekbones, the full curve of her lips, and Jules immediately knows for a fact that this will end poorly for her big brother and his new girlfriend. “What the hell is he doing?” 

 

“Come on, Jules,” Ellie berates lightly. “You know exactly what he’s doing. He’s grasping at straws trying to find anything that seems like the life he’s suddenly decided he wants for himself. The only time he’s ever been happy with a woman was Allison. He wants that again. He’s just going about it a little too literally.”

 

While that’s probably all true, Jules can’t help but remember that it wasn’t  _ Allison _ he really wanted. Not with the way that relationship ended. She knows her big brother and she has no doubt at all that the relationship he really wants is the one that never got off the ground in the first place.

 

He’d have given almost anything to have a real shot with Amelia. But, for all the feelings she knows were there on both sides of that equation, Will had thoroughly botched any chance of that happening years ago.

 

“How is it possible he can be such a flirt and so  _ bad _ at relationships all at once?” Jules wonders. 

 

“I don’t know, but that’s not actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” Ellie says, hopping onto a patio chair shaded by a large umbrella. Jules joins her in the shade, sighing at the relief. It is damned hot and she knows the sunscreen she put on won’t last, not with her fair skin. Ellie dives in. “If you’re-”

 

“Ellie, if you’re gonna warn me off from flirting with Alex again-” 

 

“No, no,” Ellie says, waving her hand dismissively. “I know a lost cause when I see one.”

 

The tight-lipped deadpan look Jules gives her sister is well-earned. And the answering smug grin she gets in reply is mildly infuriating, but that just goes along with being a sister. 

 

“I’m just having fun.”

 

“I can see that,” Ellie agrees. 

 

“He’s hot,” Jules says. “And he’s got that grumbly strong-silent thing down  _ pat _ .” 

 

“Well… as bad of an idea as I think it is, I do have to admit it’s nice to see you so happy again,” Ellie tells her sister. “Especially right now.”

 

Jules bites the inside of her cheek at that as she glances toward where Alex is heading back out to the patio. He’s got a frisbee in hand that he tosses to one of the guys in the pool before grabbing an empty lounge chair and sitting back. It’s almost like he’s actively avoiding looking at Jules for a moment. But then he slips and their gazes catch.

 

It sends a thrill of attraction straight down her spine. 

 

She doesn’t even realize she’s smiling back at him. 

 

“You know, seeing you that happy  _ all _ the time wouldn’t suck either,” Ellie says. “Like… if you spent more time around people who made you smile like that. Possibly even, I dunno, dated them and brought them to family dinners.” 

 

The sudden shift in attitude has Jules’ head spinning.

 

“Would you make up your mind?” she asks, shaking her head at her sister. “First you want me hands off and now you want me dating him?” 

 

“I just don’t want you getting hurt or hurting anyone else,” Ellie replies without censure. “Alex is a good guy and I think you could be good together. But just messing around for kicks? That’s gonna blow up in your face and it’s gonna screw over Will and Alex’s friendship.”

 

Jules rolls her eyes. If all she’s doing is screwing around, how the hell is she gonna get hurt? That’s part of the  _ point _ of just screwing around.

 

“If it helps ease your worries at all, I promise to make sure we’re on the same page, if anything happens beyond staring at each other heatedly, okay?” Jules asks. 

 

“Okay,” Ellie agrees. “But don’t expect me to be big about it when everything hits the fan. There  _ will _ be popcorn.”

 

“Nice,” Jules says.

 

“I try.”

 

“What did you actually  _ want _ to talk to me about?” Jules asks. She’d like to get to the point. There’s a super hot guy in swim trunks across the patio and as much as she loves her sister, she could totally talk to her any other time.

 

“Nate,” Ellie replies with a suddenly serious look. 

 

“What about Nate?” Jules asks, her tone every bit as severe, standing a little taller. She really had expected just about any other topic and the twist in Ellie’s demeanor is both unexpected and sharp.

 

“This is…” Ellie sighs and nods toward the seat next to her. “Sit down?”

 

Jules does, the pool party and the super hot guy in the background fading away for a moment. Ellie being concerned about her is commonplace. A little worry about Will is totally normal, too. But Nate? Nate’s the easy one. 

 

At least most of the time.

 

“What about Nate?” Jules repeats.

 

“I know what happened back then is pretty foggy for you,” Ellie says. She doesn’t have to specify when. “You were going through a lot. But it wasn’t easy on any of us. Especially Nate.”

 

“Yeah, I know that,” Jules replies. She can’t help the way her voice takes on a harder tone. The implication that she might not be aware of what was going on with her brother is a bit much to swallow and it sets her on edge. 

 

“No, Jules,” Ellie tells her, her voice sad but firm. “You really don’t.”

 

The urge to snap is overwhelming, but Jules bites it back. Instead, she watches her sister, waiting for a fuller explanation. 

 

“Someone came after all of us,” Ellie reminds her. “And yes, we all survived, but it was a very near thing with Nate. Someone  _ shot up _ his school library aiming for him. If Dad hadn’t been there and body slammed him to the floor…” Her voice trails off as she shakes her head. “He was fourteen and someone set out to murder him. You  _ know  _ Nate. We all understood you being wrapped up in your own grief. Nobody could’ve expected any different. But, Jules… you missed a lot of what he went through.”

 

Her mind flits back to that time, to the haze of days and nights that blur together, to the sharp anger she felt at sunny days and chirping birds, to crying with her arms wrapped around her legs on the floor of the shower until the water ran cold. She remembers her dad shutting the blinds against the sun and her mother pulling her from the icy water beating down on her. She remembers warm arms wrapped around her as she sobbed days and weeks and months later and her dog - Jackson’s dog - licking the tears from her cheeks. 

 

Her parents had been a steady, unfailing source of support. She’d needed them. But she knows the events of that night impacted everyone around her, too. And… now that she’s thinking about it, she can’t remember once seeing their pain and fear. Not  _ really _ . Not like Ellie is implying. Not like her mother had confessed to just days ago.

 

“I didn’t…” Jules starts before cutting herself off. Her eyes dart back and forth across the glass table in front of her, but she doesn’t see it. Her mind is in the past. “I didn’t think…”

 

“Stop,” Ellie orders, grabbing her hand. Sometimes she reminds Jules so starkly of their father that it leaves her stunned. “No one -  _ no one _ \- expected you to think about what they were going through back then. Not after what happened to you. Even Nate understood. He didn’t hold it against Mom that she stayed with you those first few days and he wasn’t mad at Dad for trying to hunt down the attackers with the Diggles, Eric, and Uncle Roy. But that doesn’t mean it was easy on him either. And, I’m worried that these bodies coming to light are going to dredge up some difficult memories for him that he’s never really come to terms with.”

 

“Who stayed with him?” Jules asks, completely missing the last half of everything her sister just said. “That first night,” she clarifies. “Mom was with me and Dad was on the streets, so who-”

 

“Will and I did,” Ellie interrupts. “And Mom and Dad called a few times, too. They were so scared. I think they took turns checking in, but Mom knew you needed her and Dad was panicking trying to hunt the people hunting his kids. So, it was me and Will. Nate curled up like a little kid with his head on Will’s lap and he cried himself to sleep while I rubbed his back.” 

 

Jules doesn’t quite know what to do with that. The mental image is so heart-wrenching that she wants to run over to the brownstone and hug her overgrown baby brother. He’s a good kid - the best of them in some ways, she thinks. There’s an innocence about him that he’s somehow managed to retain even in the face of trauma and ever-present danger. It makes him special. And it definitely brings out her need to protect him. 

 

Brings out Tempest. 

 

“My point is that we’re all in a different place now,” Ellie continues, pulling Jules’ attention back to her. “But I don’t know that he’s dealing with things any better now than he was back then. I just want us both looking out for him.”

 

That, Jules thinks, is the easiest thing to agree to she’s ever heard. 

 

“Definitely.”

 

She means every syllable of it and it’s clear that Ellie knows that from the pleased little nod she gives. 

 

“Good,” Ellie says, adopting a chipper air. “Good! Alright, I’m gonna go see if Alex wants a hand grilling up some of the veggies I brought.”

 

“You know that’s not barbeque, right?” 

 

“Sure it is. It’s done  _ on _ the barbeque,” Ellie corrects, wrinkling her nose at her sister as she stands. 

 

“How are we related?” Jules asks, quirking her head to the side in curiosity as she pulls a face. “I’m telling Uncle Roy you called grilled vegetables ‘barbeque’ because this is not a battle I need to fight.”

 

“I will fight for grilled asparagus,” Ellie announces.

 

“Yeah,” Jules says, standing up next to her. “But will you fight for  _ barbequed _ asparagus?”

 

“ _ Ugh _ ,” Ellie says in mock frustration, shaking her head as she turns and walks over to Alex. 

 

Standing there and staring at him is all well and good when he’s staring back, but Jules feels a little bit like a creeper maintaining that gaze while he talks with her sister. So, she turns away and skims the rest of the backyard. She knows almost everyone there. Sara, she notes, keeps sneaking looks at Ellie. This is the furthest thing from surprising she can think of these days, but it’s still infuriating. Honestly… the  _ pining _ . She’s just done with it. 

 

Jules sets out to bypass Sara, though. She sees her more nights than not as Cynisca and they can chat anytime. She’s a little more intrigued by her big brother’s new girlfriend and she offers the woman a pleasant enough greeting - to which she looks painfully relieved. 

 

But then the doorbell rings, garnering everyone’s attention. 

 

The hushing noise that follows is absurdly louder than the people who’d been talking. But it is two o’clock and there’s really no doubt who’s at the door. 

 

“Everybody hide!” Ellie instructs. 

 

Jules rolls her eyes. This is extra ridiculous because it’s a backyard with pool towels and snacks and beer all over the place and there’s really no masking that. But everyone makes a decent effort anyhow as Alex heads back into the house to get the door.

 

Everyone except for her. She’s strategic, a vigilante, and she can hide with the best of them. And while this is surely the most innocent use of her skill set she’s ever executed, she absolutely did scout out a prime position earlier. With a harsh, “Jules,  _ hide _ !” from Ellie, she manages to wedge herself into a hiding spot near a column where she’ll get a full view of Will’s face as he realizes what’s going on. 

 

And it is so worth it. 

 

“...  _ just finish pickin’ up some stuff out back then we’ll get started _ ,” Alex’s voice drifts from the house. 

 

“ _ Sure,” _ Will agrees, sounding a little confused but getting closer. “ _ That’s not a-” _

 

The second he steps foot onto the patio, everyone pops out and yells surprise. Not her, though. She’s more than happy to watch from her vantage point next to the pillar and laugh at the stunned look on her big brother’s face.

 

“What the…” Will asks with a chuckle. 

 

“We  _ got you _ !” Ellie cries delightedly, rushing over to hug him.

 

“Yeah, you did,” he agrees, swooping her up as Jules emerges. He does a pleased little double-take at Jules’ presence and she grins.

 

“Happy birthday, bro,” she says.

 

“Dude, this is nuts.” Will laughs, looking back at Alex. “Thank you, man.” 

 

Alex grins back and  _ oh  _ is that a gorgeous sight. His eyes crinkle at the sides and his bright, toothy smile is genuine, making him light up in a way that is…  _ endearing _ . Jules bites on the end of her fingertip as she considers him. 

 

There’s just something about him… 

 

He embraces Will in a one-armed hug, thumping his friend solidly on the back. For the moment, it’s hard to tell who’s happier about Will’s surprise party - him or Alex. 

 

The party goes into full swing after that. 

 

Will’s girlfriend - Sophie, Jules learns - is a whole lot more comfortable with him there and she loosens up a bit with his presence. It seems like Will’s happy to see her, but as Jules watches them, she can’t help but think Sophie’s a bit  _ clingy _ . Then again, it’s a new relationship. It hasn’t been so long that Jules has forgotten what that’s like and Will doesn’t seem to be objecting to the way she constantly touches him, so whatever.

 

Ellie loses the fight over whether or not grilled vegetables can be considered barbeque, but they do get cooked so she doesn’t fight too hard. That might, however, be due more to the fact that Sara starts a bit of a food war with her. They wind up tossing veggies at each other right up until Ellie tackles Sara into the pool. They’re both laughing uproariously, splashing each other until they realize what they’re doing. When they back away from each other uncomfortably, Jules’ eyes can’t roll hard enough.

 

“Ugh, for real,” Jules whispers.

 

“They’ll work it out,” Alex says from behind her. She jumps, spinning to face him. He’s got a plate of chicken waiting to be added to the grill as he nods to the Sara and Ellie. “Not gonna be too long. They can’t keep away from each other, even if they think they should.”

 

“Yeah?” Jules asks, following him back to the grill where he’s got burgers already sizzling against the coals. She leans against the wall, watching him as he adds the chicken. “Well for my money, they shouldn’t have gone the pained longing route in the first place. But… it is good to hear that kind of restraint has its limits.”

 

Alex huffs and shakes his head, flipping a burger before glancing at her. 

 

“Careful, chica,” he says. “You’re gonna get yourself burned.”

 

“Maybe I like playing with fire,” she replies, daring him to tell her differently. 

 

Their gaze holds, but unlike earlier, he breaks first. Alex looks back down at the meat on the grill for a beat and flipping another burger before sneaking a look at her. 

 

“So…” he drawls. “You really wanna do this  _ now _ ?” 

 

The question makes her breath hitch and her mouth go dry.

 

It’s the first time he’s even hinted at acquiescence and for a second she doesn’t know what to say. It’s only then that she realizes she hadn’t really expected him to cave, hadn’t  _ really _ thought this strikingly handsome, older man - her brother’s best friend - would really be swayed by her charms. 

 

But Alex’s eyes pin her in place with wide-blown pupils. His jaw is set and he grips the grill tongs tightly enough that she can see the muscles of his forearm tightening up. 

 

He’s  _ all _ muscle and for a split second, she pictures those strong arms in an entirely different situation.

 

_ … propping himself up atop her as he kisses her, moves inside her, takes her right up and over that edge of bliss where everything is perfect, if only for an instant…  _

 

“Maybe not now,” Jules says, pushing off the wall and stroking one finger down the length of his exposed arm. His hair stands up on end at the trail of her touch and it feels triumphant. She slowly wets her lips as she looks up at him. “Maybe after everyone else has gone home…” 

 

He gulps hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly as he swallows, but he’s quiet for a very long moment before pulling his arm away. Somewhere in the background, Will’s laughter rings out loudly and Ellie giggles about something while Javi protests. 

 

“You are ten years younger than me, Julianna,” Alex points out, his voice more closed off than before. There’s a resolve to it that she doesn’t like. “And this is a very bad idea.”

 

“Maybe,” she allows, backing off slightly. “But I don’t think you can keep away from me, Alex. Even if you think you should.” 

 

“We’ll see, won’t we?” he asks. 

 

“Yes,” she agrees readily. “We definitely will.”

 

She steps away for the moment, leaving him to his thoughts and turning back to the party. But that’s pretty much where she stops because the sight in front of her makes her cringe. 

 

Given the entirety of Will’s twenties, you’d think he’d know how to dance. 

 

“Oh,  _ hell _ no,” Javi says, holding both hands up and getting uncomfortably close to Will and his girlfriend. “No, no, no. You can’t be doin’ your white boy shuffle to this music. What the hell are you doing, man?”

 

“It’s my birthday,” Will protests, shoving his friend’s shoulder. “And my girlfriend wanted to dance.”

 

“Want me to change it to a waltz, then?” Javi asks. “Maybe a foxtrot?” 

 

Sara laughs nearby. “ _ Foxtrot _ ?” 

 

“Those hoity-toity dances you all do at galas and stuff. Like I know what they are?” Javi asks, waving it off before looking back at Will and Sophie. “Come on, Mamacita, lemme show you how a man’s supposed to dance to this song.” 

 

Will’s girlfriend is clearly uncomfortable, though, and Jules never misses an opportunity to snark back at Javi. So, she steps up and says, “But who’s gonna show you, Javi?” 

 

The laughter from the rest of the group absolutely makes the moment more fun. And Javi… well, he can take a joke and all of his offense is clearly feigned. 

 

“Go for it then, Legs,” he challenges. “Let’s see them stems in action. If you still got it.”

 

Jules doesn’t need a partner and she doesn’t need to know the words to the summertime Spanish pop song that’s blasting from the speakers. All she needs is to feel the beat in her soul. That’s something she’s always been able to do. 

 

“You asked for it,” Ellie points out to Javi as Jules slips off her sandals and shuts her eyes to hone in on the music. 

 

It’s not like the dancing she used to do, not organized or choreographed, but she can make her body tell a story all the same. The song is all longing and sex appeal. It holds onto long notes, the singer’s voice going gritty and clinging to those lyrics just a bit longer than it seems like he should. Something about that appeals to her and when she starts to sway along with the music it’s with the confidence of a woman who absolutely knows what she’s doing. 

 

She’s sexy and fluid. Expressive. A conduit for the story the music’s telling. And she knows it. 

 

Every inch of her is muscular and limber and she curves and dips along with the song it’s like her body  _ is _ the music, like it’s taking shape through her. That’s always been her favorite thing about dance. 

 

“Hot  _ damn, _ Will,” one of the firefighters from another station says. She doesn’t know him. “Your baby sister has got  _ moves _ .” 

 

The look Will gives the guy is equal parts incredulous and murderous, but Jules just grins. She feels more at home on this porch than she has at her own apartment in years. 

 

“Come on,” Sara says, holding a hand out to Ellie. “We’re dancing.”

 

Jules’ smile grows quite a bit wider when Ellie hesitantly takes Sara’s hand and the two girls start dancing together. It’s nowhere near as suggestive as Jules’ moves and it’s nowhere near as practiced either - Javi had a point about waltzes - but they both look equal parts bashful and happy, so Jules takes that as a step in the right direction for them. 

 

A few couples pair off around her and one or two others start bopping along solo as well. Javi’s just a few steps away, giving her a look that seems like an invitation. But it’s definitely not Javi she wants to dance with.

 

She can feel Alex’s eyes on her skin, the heat of his desire bringing her senses to life. She doesn’t even have to  _ look _ to know it, but it does egg her on. She dips lower, sways her hips more, raises her hands above her head and slides her fingers down the length of her own arm - a mimicry of what she’d done to his earlier. When she finally looks at him it’s with deeply hooded eyes and the most searing gaze she can muster. 

 

The man is  _ stubborn _ . His hands are balled into fists at his side and his jaw clenched as he watches her with hungry eyes, but he doesn’t make a move. At least, he doesn’t until the guy next to him whistles lowly and takes a step in her direction. 

 

It’s the last straw. 

 

Alex pushes his friend back with a firm palm to the other man’s chest, stopping him in his tracks and offering a heavy look of warning before stalking in Jules’ direction. She mostly turns so that he can’t see the grin on her face, but it works out beautifully for so many reasons. 

 

It’s not more than a moment later when she feels his hands on her hips and the heat of his body at her back. There’s something terrifically masculine about him that leaves her craving more and having him this close, pressed up against her back and swaying with her to the music, amplifies that feeling more than she could’ve expected. 

 

“You’re a damned tease, woman,” he growls in her ear. His fingers spread wide across the curve of her hips, guiding her movements. “And you’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?” 

 

“Not teasing if you plan to follow through,” she shoots back, glancing over her shoulder at him just before she rolls her hips backward. 

 

He winces, his eyes slamming shut. His grip tightens against her as he lets out a little grunt. 

 

“It’s just a dance, chica,” he grits out, forcing his eyes open to look at her. 

 

“Which one of us is the tease then?” she asks biting her lip and shrugging a shoulder at him. 

 

He doesn’t answer with words, but he does dance with her. And  _ oh, _ can he dance. She hadn’t expected him to be this good. She’d sort of expected that at best, they’d sway together to the beat. But, it quickly becomes clear that Alex knows exactly what he’s doing. At least with this type of dancing, he can absolutely keep up with her. 

 

In truth, she sort of forgets anyone else is there. Alex doesn’t just dance with her, he  _ leads _ , guiding her motions in a subtle, seemingly effortless way. She savors the moment more than she has any other quite some time. Being together like this, with his hands on her, their bodies moving in concert to the rhythm of the music… in some ways, it’s just like sex.

 

Her body completely agrees, need scorching a hot trail through her, heat pooling low in her stomach.

 

One of her hands drifts up to wrap around the back of his neck as she leans back into him. 

 

He groans right next to her cheek, the heat of his breath teasing at the shell of her ear as her fingernails gently scratch at his skin. He shivers and his breath stutters and she makes a mental note of that for later. And there  _ will  _ be a later. There is no way she’s going to let this go now. Not when they move so perfectly together, not when he can make her feel so  _ alive  _ like this. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like, this sense of suspended bliss, the way she can detach from everything else for a few moments.  

 

It’s all heightened even more when he spins her around to dance with him face-to-face. 

 

There’s absolutely no feigned attempt at distance between them. She’s pressed against him fully as they move as one. Their faces are so close and his eyes don’t leave hers for a second. He barely even blinks and the tension between them is so taut that it takes physical effort to keep herself from pushing up on her toes and fusing her lips to his. 

 

“Wow…” 

 

Jules jolts at the voice. She doesn’t miss that Alex holds her more firmly, like he’s trying to steady her or gentle her instinct to lash out. That it actually  _ does _ settle her some, makes her feel more rooted and secure… Well, that surprises her almost as much as the voice had. 

 

“Damn, you two.” Javi laughs, giving them a low whistle. “Invite me to the wedding!” 

 

She fights back a blush as best she can, letting out a thin laugh as she turns to give him a look. 

 

“Grow up, Javi,” she says, shaking her head at him. “Some of us know how to do more than the hokey pokey.” 

 

That earns a bit of a chuckle from the others around them. It’s only at their laughter that she dares to look toward her brother. Will’s laughing along, but the look on his face is both confused and nervous. He’s trying to figure out if he needs to have words with his best friend or not. She knows it. And, as much as she loves him, she sorta wants to hit him for it.

 

God, he can be  _ such _ a hypocrite sometimes. 

 

Alex’s reaction is definitely different than hers, though. His hand falls away and he takes a step back, putting a fair bit of distance between them. It shouldn’t bother her. Not really. The dance is over and there’s no excuse for continued contact. But her heart still drops as the heat of his body bleeds away and her skin settles, no longer feeling quite so impossibly alive, so electric.

 

With hindsight, one day she’ll recognize that probably should have been her first clue that none of this was going to go precisely as she planned.


	6. Chapter 6

Residual buzz from her dance with Alex clings to her all afternoon, like a drug that hasn’t fully left her system yet. It leaves Jules smiling. Like, honestly  _ smiling _ in a way that makes her mother do a double-take when she shows up at headquarters. 

 

“Well, someone’s chipper!” Felicity declares. “I did not expect to see that look today.” 

 

“Will’s party was fun,” Jules replies.

 

She ignores the, “ _ Mhmm, _ ” from Ellie behind her. She also ignores the curious way her mother’s eyes dart from her to Ellie and back, like she’s looking for a scoop. There’s no scoop to be had, though, and definitely not the sort her mother would want to know. 

 

“Anything new?” Jules asks instead, peering over her mom’s shoulder at a computer screen. It displays gibberish that seems to only make sense to her mother. 

 

“Nope,” her mother says. “Not yet. Give it some time, kiddo. Not everything gets solved with flashy brilliance and an ‘ _ ah ha!’ _ moment.”

 

“Ten dollars says she shouts ‘ah ha’ when she finds something,” Ellie says. 

 

“With a fist pump,” Jules agrees.

 

“Celebrate your wins, ladies,” Felicity tells them, spinning in her chair to face them. “What’s on your docket tonight? Big plans? Drug kingpins to bust? Puppies to rescue?”

 

“I’m there for any and all puppy saves,” Jules replies. “But I thought we’d stick around here and get some sparring in until we’ve got something specific to go after.”

 

It’s part-statement and part-question, but Ellie nods easily in agreement. 

 

“Sounds good to me,” Felicity declares. “I’ve got an ear out for emergency calls and your dad’s patrolling around the lower west side with Arsenal two-point-oh, just to see what’s up.”

 

_ Old Bertinelli territory _ . That’s what she’s not saying. Her dad is poking around the former stomping grounds of the Italian mob. Jules grimaces and briefly debates heading out to join him and Eric, but just the idea of aimlessly searching for scraps of clues toward whoever had Jackson killed sets her nerves on edge. Being out there would be a hundred times worse. 

 

“Tell him to bring me back some manicotti,” she says instead before looking back to Ellie. “Suit up.”

 

Ellie nods and they both head to change into their chosen masks. Their dad usually goes casual for drills, but Jules has always preferred to become Tempest before fighting, even if it’s just sparring. For one thing, movement is different in the suit than in yoga pants. But it also lends her a barrier in her life that she finds she needs. 

 

The only time she’s fought without a mask was fending off the man who killed Jackson. 

 

Getting into and out of the uniform is habit at this point and both she and Ellie are ready quickly, meeting back on the mats and stretching a bit in silence before perusing the weapons rack. 

 

“Staves?” Ellie suggests. “I could use to brush up.” 

 

“You’re better there than me,” Jules acknowledges, but she reaches for a pair of bō staffs and tosses one to Ellie. The blonde catches it effortlessly and spins the wooden stick around like a bored student twirling a pencil in class. “If you want a real challenge, ask Will.”

 

“Too bad he hates this stuff,” Ellie replies. “He’s pretty great with a stick in his hands.”

 

“We can’t all be vigilantes,” Jules says, falling back into a well-practiced stance that Ellie mirrors immediately. “Somebody’s gotta maintain an air of respectability.”

 

“I thought that was why we had Nate?” Ellie counters. Jules snorts, but she’s not distracted enough to get hit with Ellie’s first swing. 

 

The talking more or less stops after that as they volley back and forth, trading blows and analyzing each other’s moves. 

 

Sparring, in some ways, is a lot like dancing with someone. It’s all moves and countermoves, anticipating each other’s action and responding in kind. All of the careful footwork sends Jules’ mind back to earlier that afternoon. It leaves a ghostly echo of that electricity surging across her skin, a phantom spicy, woodsy scent drifting over her. 

 

She does her best to concentrate. Truly, she does. But, to her frustration, her mind is elsewhere - half on the lower west side with her father and half back on Alex’s patio. She’s torn and it’s showing. By the fourth solid hit Ellie gets on her, a rap against her upper arm that will definitely leave a bruise, she’s well past hiding it. 

 

“How about we take five?” Ellie suggests, stepping back and eyeing her curiously. 

 

“How about we call it?” Jules asks instead, stretching out her neck. Ellie blinks back at her with raised eyebrows, unspoken questions evident across her face. “There’s a lot going on right now,” Jules admits. “I thought I needed this, but… I don’t know. Maybe I just need to spend some time with the weights or the salmon ladder. I’ve gotta burn through everything in my head.”

 

“Wanna talk about it?” Ellie offers. She’s leaning against the staff with a serious look and absolutely no pressure at all. “‘Cause I’m here if you do, you know.” 

 

Jules smiles and shakes her head. “Yeah,” she says. “I know. And… not now. I’ve gotta make sense of some things first. But maybe I’ll take a rain check?”

 

“Open offer,” Ellie agrees before nodding at the workout equipment. “Want a spotter?”

 

Jules considers the offer then says, “Nah, I think I’m gonna start with the treadmill, actually. I could use a run.”

 

“I’ll be here if you change your mind,” Ellie replies. 

 

There’s no doubt in Jules’ head that she means that in every way and she finds herself squeezing her sister’s shoulder in a silent thank you as she passes her by. She ignores the way Ellie stands there watching her, though. And she  _ definitely _ ignores the way her mother does the same. 

 

She just needs to burn this off, needs to be faster than the thoughts clinging to the recesses of her mind. A solid run and a rush of endorphins as she races toward exhaustion should do that, right?

 

The pace she sets is not an easy one. Maybe she’s punishing herself or maybe she’s just trying to escape the riot in her mind… She’s not sure. But her feet pound against the treadmill at a steady clip as her mind wanders. To Jackson. To that night. To the bodies in the cement. To her poolside dance with Alex. 

 

Thinking about Jackson and that night is fruitless. She can’t change anything, can’t save him now any more than she could back then. She’s spent nearly three years going in circles in her mind about that and she knows there’s no peace to be found with those thoughts. That’s why she’d flirted with Alex in the first place, wasn’t it? To escape that loop she’s been stuck in for a bit? To break that cycle, if only for a little while?

 

So why is she running from her memories of him now, too?

 

That question has her grinding to a halt. Literally. 

 

All of this is pointless.  _ All _ of it. If anything, she’s more frustrated than before, antsy with a steady buzz of need for resolution itching at her skin. 

 

“I think I’m gonna call it,” she says, wiping at her brow with a nearby towel, barely glancing at her mom and sister. 

 

“For the night?” her mom asks surprised. 

 

Jules doesn’t look back at her, instead choosing to rub at the back of her neck with the towel. “Yeah,” she answers. “I’ve got someone I need to see.”

 

“Jules…” Ellie says. She’s worried. That’s what this is, what all her warnings have been. Jules can respect that - she can be grateful for it, even - but that doesn’t mean she’s going to play it safe. 

 

“I’ll hit the showers then head out,” she replies. “Text me if you find anything. Call if it’s an emergency.”

 

“Sure,” her mother agrees. There’s a question in her voice, but Jules ignores it. Her mind is already three steps ahead, back on that patio with Alex’s hands on her body. 

 

Later, she won’t remember the way she methodically showers and dresses again. She won’t remember saying goodbye to her mom and sister or heading back to Alex’s house. 

 

But she  _ will _ remember everything that comes next.

 

Like the look on his face when he opens his door to find her on the front stoop…

 

The hesitation in his voice when he asks, “What are you doing here, Julianna?” 

 

And she’ll definitely remember the way she can’t quite catch her breath, can’t make her heart stop racing or stop her skin from tingling in anticipation. 

 

It’s a fake sense of bravado when she asks, “You gonna leave a girl standing on your doorstep all night, Alex? What will your neighbors say?” 

 

He hisses through his teeth and yanks open the door, gesturing for her to come inside. 

 

The instant her feet hit his threshold, she realizes the thrill running through her is  _ nerves _ . When was the last time that happened? She supposes it’s because of the situation. This isn’t a random guy at a club. This is someone with ties to her family, someone she sort of knows and will likely see again. There’s something terrifying about that, but not enough to make her back down. 

 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he tells her, but he shuts the door behind her anyhow. 

 

“Sure I should,” she counters, turning her head to watch him over her shoulder. “We both want me to be.”

 

“Not the point,” he grumbles. That just makes her grin. It feels normal for them, whatever that is after knowing each other for scarcely over a week.

 

“It’s exactly the point,” she replies, turning to face him. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not…” Jules closes the distance between them. “But I’m a girl who goes after what she wants.”

 

“You’re a girl who’s lookin’ for trouble, is what you are,” he corrects. He doesn’t back away, though, and that same delicious tension from earlier starts to slowly build back up, coiling tighter in the space between them, a living thing that inhabits the air and invades her lungs. 

 

“Trouble tends to find me where I’m looking for it or not.” She shrugs. “I’ve learned to have a little fun with it along the way.”

 

He tilts his head and leans in. It’s a challenge and she’s not the sort to back down. “That what you think this is?” he asks. “Fun?”

 

“It’s definitely getting there,” she replies. There’s a teasing lilt to her voice and when she reaches out to rest her hand on his shirt he doesn’t back off and doesn’t object. He _ does  _ make a rumbling noise deep in his chest that resonates against her fingertips, though. It just fuels her. “This is simple, Alex. Either you want me or you don’t. I think we both know which one it is.”

 

“Yeah?” he asks. “How’s that gonna go down with your brother when he finds out what’s goin’ on?” 

 

Will is her very favorite person in the entire world and she loves him beyond measure. But he’s also overprotective as hell these days, to the point she wants to sort of punch him, and this is so not any of his business.

 

Jules doesn’t skip a beat. “Who’s gonna tell him?” 

 

“I’m gonna look him in the eye every day and never let on I’m with his baby sister? Really?” Alex asks. “That’s some dream world you live in, Julianna.”

 

She scoffs. “I’m not asking you to take me to prom, Alex.”

 

“No, I think I’m pretty clear on exactly what you want,” he shoots back, pulling her hand away from his chest. “No strings. Dirty little secret. Right?”

 

Put like that, it actually makes her feel a bit abashed. “It’s always dirty if you’re doing it right,” she replies. Sometimes boldness looks like bravery. That’s something Jules has honed to perfection over the years.

 

“What if I don’t want that?” he demands. The intensity on his face has her head swimming and she’s suddenly quite aware that he hasn’t let go of her hand. His grip is sturdy, steadying, and growing tighter by the second.

 

“Why wouldn’t you?” she asks.

 

“Maybe I want more than that,” he tells her. 

 

The statement hangs in the air. Jules blinks, in no way prepared for the sudden shift. Her heart pounds in her throat at the implication behind his words, a sudden rush of heat sweeping up the back of her neck that has nothing to do with the desire simmering between them.

 

“Like…” Her voice cracks and she has to pause to swallow hard and lick her lips before continuing. “Like what?” 

 

“Like maybe I wanna take you to dinner,” Alex says. “Maybe I wanna dance with you without pretending like we’re just messing around.”

 

“But we are,” she says. “We  _ are _ just messing around.”

 

“Maybe you are,” he tells her, finally dropping her hand. “But I’m not.”

 

He doesn’t wait for a response. Alex moves past her, heading to the kitchen, and it takes a beat for her to hurry after him because she’s just so thrown that she’s not entirely sure what to do. He’s pulling a pair of beers from the fridge by the time she gets there, popping the cap off them both and taking a solid swig from one before he even looks back at her. Wordlessly, he offers her the other bottle. 

 

“You don’t even know me,” she points out, taking the drink from his outstretched hand. Her fingers brush his and it’s like lightning across her skin. 

 

“The hell I don’t.” He chuckles under his breath, pulling his hand back and rubbing his fingers together where they’d touched. She can’t tell if he’s trying to savor the sensation of her skin on his or trying to get rid of it. “You think I haven’t heard a million things about you over the years? You got no idea how well I know you.”

 

“Like hearing about me is the same thing as knowing me?” she challenges, stepping close enough that it cages him in against the countertop. 

 

“Nah,” he agrees. “It’s not. But between every story I’ve heard and that damned gorgeous shot of you your brother’s got for your contact on his phone, that was already more than enough for me to tell myself that I gotta keep my distance. I don’t do casual anymore, sweetheart, and you aren’t looking for anything more.”

 

Her heart flutters as she blinks at him, taken aback. This is the furthest thing from what she expected and maybe it should send her running, maybe she should have decided right here and now that her whole ‘scratching the itch’ plan was not going to work with Alex. But there’s something about him that draws her in, something that makes the air around them pop and sizzle. It’s far too late for her to back off now. 

 

And she doesn’t want to.

 

“I don’t want you to keep your distance,” she says.

 

“But you don’t want to be my girl, either,” he points out. “You wanna be my sidepiece and that don’t work with me. I’m not so good at doing things halfway, Julianna. I gave up on empty hookups a long time ago. Not sure I could keep it to that now if I tried and definitely not with you.”

 

That answer is beyond frustrating and the exact opposite of what she wants to hear. Jules tries to think of something to say, to respond with, but all she feels is aggravation building in her chest. She bites her lip hard, too hard, but she savors the burn. The space between them is minimal and none of the tension that lives there has dissipated, in spite of the impasse they’ve reached. 

 

So, it’s an easy thing for him to reach out and smooth his thumb across her abused lower lip. 

 

Jules’ eyes slip shut with a moan. The gentle touch of his warm, callused finger against her skin has her shivering. It’s the tiniest taste of exactly what she wants, a hint of what he’s capable of giving her. And, as if dancing with him earlier hadn’t proven it, a taste will never, ever be enough. She sways, dizzied, lost in a wash of sensation. 

 

It’s only the absence of his warmth that has her opening her eyes. He’s blinking and staring at his hand like it had acted of its own accord. With a shell-shocked look, he swallows hard and steps away, heading back to the rest of his living area. 

 

“I’m not actually that special, you know,” she calls after him. He stops in the doorway and stands in place for a moment before setting his drink down on the end table and looking back at her. “I’m just me,” she says with an empty little laugh. 

 

“Already told you,” he says. “There ain’t nothing  _ ‘just’ _ about you.”

 

“Sure there is,” she says a little defensively. It’s been a long time since she felt this vulnerable in front of anyone but her family, and the instinctual urge to hide surges up inside her. But the words still come easily, if a little harsh. “I’m just a little broken. Just a little scarred by life. Just a girl looking for something… anything that makes me feel a little less lost, a little more in control. Because right now it’s like everything is closing in on me except for when I’m around you. So, I don’t know what kind of fairytale stories my brother told you, but there is plenty that is  _ ‘just’  _ about me.”

 

By the time the words are out her throat is clogged and her palms sweaty. It’s the most honest she’s been in a long time, even to herself. Laying her soul bare, scars and all, in front of a virtual stranger will go down as one of the most uncharacteristic things she’ll do in her entire life. But it’s also a risk that will prove one of the best she ever takes. 

 

Her words splinter something in him, or maybe it’s her genuine display of vulnerability that does it. But, a tight strain pulls at his face and he grits his teeth as he wars with himself. 

 

It’s his resolve that loses. 

 

Four big strides take him back across the kitchen so that he’s a hair’s breadth away from her. He takes her beer bottle and practically tosses it atop the marble countertop, sending it clanking against the backsplash, but she scarcely hears it over the thrumming of her own heartbeat because she’s suddenly surrounded by him and…

 

His lips slant of hers and he’s kissing her like it’s the only thing he’s wanted to do since the moment she showed up at his door. 

 

Her expectations shatter. He is all-consuming, hungry for her in a way she’s never quite felt before. This is not gentle or sweet. This is pure want, bone-deep need, a very different sort of passion than the kind she’s felt before and she is wholly swept away by it. 

 

Surging up against him like the tide in a storm, she grabs hold of his shirt with both hands and kisses him back. Her skin  _ sings _ with this; her head spins with it, and her heart pounds like it cannot be contained within her chest.

 

All she can do is want. Want and feel. And  _ oh _ what a feeling it is. His large, rough hands are everywhere, cupping the back of her head and bracing against her back. The scruff of his beard is a rough counterpoint to the demand of his soft lips. 

 

She’s lost. 

 

Had she thought being with him would help her feel  _ less _ lost?  _ Less _ out of control? 

 

When they finally part, her lips feel cold and strange without the pressure of his and she finds the urge to chase after his mouth with hers is nearly impossible to deny. Letting loose a needy whimper, she grips his shirt harder and presses up on her toes. She needs more, she needs  _ him _ . She needs… she doesn’t know what she needs. But her blood screams for whatever it is in a thunderous pulse that races through her body at an incredible speed. 

 

It will not be denied. 

 

“Don’t you dare think that about yourself,” he demands in a used voice, his nose brushing against hers but his lips just out of her reach. “Scars don’t make you broken, Julianna. They make you remarkable.”

 

“Show me then,” she challenges. “Prove it to me.” 

 

The look he gives her is pained, aches with longing, and his hands settle on her hips just like when they’d been dancing. His fingers spread out wide, arching over the upper curve of her ass and holding her close. 

 

“We can figure everything else out later,” she promises. “Just… tonight, I need-”

 

“I know what you need,” he cuts her off. 

 

The kiss that follows has heat slicing straight through the core of her being. It rises up and engulfs every sense she possesses, turning her knees weak and sending her head spinning. There’s intent now where there hadn’t been before. He’s not fighting against himself. The press of his lips to hers is purposeful, driven with goal-oriented precision. And, when her head catches up with her body and she tugs his lip between her teeth, he grunts and ducks down to grab the backs of both of her thighs and hoist her up into his arms. 

 

Physically, Alex is a big guy, much taller than her and every inch of him well-muscled. But, from the way he moans and mutters something in Spanish she can’t understand against her mouth, she feels like the stronger one. 

 

Still, she doesn’t even realize they’re moving until they fall back down onto the sofa. It’s sheer luck that they don’t collide heads or clank teeth together because there’s definitely no break in the kissing. The worst injury is a harder nip to his lips and he definitely seems to have no objection to that. 

 

His name is a prayer on her lips as she settles in his lap, straddling him, bracketing his face with flat palms as she drinks deeply from his lips. Little shocks of feeling hit her everywhere, like lightning bolts mapping out the expanse of her skin. Every piece of her wants more, wants Alex buried deep inside her, making her feel everything good she’s capable of feeling right up until she breaks like a storm surge cresting against a seawall. 

 

Grinding down against him is mindless,  _ easy _ . His hardness is thick and exactly where she needs it most, not only setting off shocks of electricity across her skin and through her veins, but making little bolts of lightning streak across the insides of her eyelids. 

 

She feels as though there will never be enough, though, and she’s pulling at his shirt frantically with both hands even as she won’t stop kissing him.

 

“I need…  _ Alex _ ,” she whimpers against his lips, tugging his shirt up. 

 

“Que hermosa,” he murmurs. She can make out the words but not understand them. “Qué necesitas, Julianna? No tienes idea, verdad?”

 

“What?” she asks in a dazed voice, backing off just enough to meet his eyes. 

 

The way he’s looking back her isn’t like a fling or a one-night-stand. It’s warm and awed, blatantly affectionate. She doesn’t quite know what to do with that on a rational level, but that doesn’t matter right now because this is a moment of pure instinct. His hand cups the side of her face, thumb stroking along the ridge of her cheekbone and she melts, leaning into his palm, shutting her eyes with a deep moan. 

 

She’s  _ missed _ this. Big, masculine hands that touch her with a gentle reverence, make her feel special, cherished. She  _ needs _ this, needs it as much as she needs sex, and she hadn’t even realized it was missing. 

 

Arching her neck to the side gives him a brand new expanse of exposed skin and he doesn’t waste any time tracing a line down the long, slim column of her neck with the pads of his fingers. Jules doesn’t open her eyes, not until his fingers rest lightly against her collarbone. 

 

“You’re beautiful,” he tells her when her eyes flutter open and she finds his honey-brown eyes staring back at her. The seriousness on his face is unmistakable, intimate. It’s as terrifying as it is exciting. “You don’t even know it, but you are. Inside and out. You got this fire about you, makes everybody stop and stare for a bit, but I can’t look away.” 

 

She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she kisses him again instead. It starts soft, gentle even, but it doesn’t stay that way long. In the face of affection and passion, Jules quickly finds she has been starved for this. And she is  _ famished _ . 

 

Her kisses turn frantic as she drinks him in. Her hands grapple blindly with the collar of his t-shirt, seeking skin and touch and warmth. Her mouth pries his lips apart and her tongue slips inside, tasting traces of beer and barbeque and him. Rocking above him, she grinds down with a mindless need that feels like it’s taken root in the deepest parts of her soul. 

 

She’s a storm of passion and want. She always has been, but it’s been so long and she aches for this so much that it only drives her further into a wild frenzy of desire. He licks at the roof of her mouth as his hand slides up her bare thigh to the hem of her shorts and squeezes. Jules has never been quiet and that’s not about to start now. She cries out against his lips and arches her body into his, seeking pressure and friction and heat. 

 

An unmistakable noise of appreciation rumbles from him at that.  _ Good _ . Jules has no intention of tempering herself. 

 

He rubs his thumb against her inner thigh and she makes a sharp noise of want as one of her hands grips the arm of the sofa behind his head. 

 

“Que hermosa eres, Julianna,” he says again. “You like my hands on you, don’t you?” 

 

“Yes,” she moans. Her whole body hums with need. She can barely stand it. “I need you to touch me. Anywhere. Everywhere.”

 

“Carajo,” he mutters, eyes flashing and nostrils flaring. 

 

Before she quite realizes what’s happening, his hands are on her waist and he’s turning her body so that she’s reclining against him. 

 

“What-?” she asks startled, looking back at him over her shoulder. 

 

“You want my hands,” he tells her, sliding his palm across her belly beneath her shirt. “You’re gonna get them.”

 

“Oh…  _ oh _ ... “ she breathes out as she realizes what he’s saying. Immediately she presses her shoulders back against his chest to arch her pelvis up toward his hand. “ _ Yes _ .”

 

“Yeah?” he breathes out against her ear, fingers flipping open the button of her shorts. 

 

“Yeah, yes,” she confirms, nodding as she reaches down and links fingers with his, guiding his hand down her shorts. 

 

“Fuck,” he grits out, hissing it against her neck as she spreads her legs wider and drags his hand to exactly where she needs it. “Fuck, that’s hot.” 

 

The first touch of callused fingertip to her clit has her jolting like she’s been struck by lightning. She cries out his name as he gently circles around her slick, needy pearl. 

 

“I got you,” he promises, kissing her neck as he works his hand against her. “I got you, Chula. Like this, yeah?”

 

“Yes, Alex, right there,” she whines, holding his hand in place as he works her over. 

 

“Dios mio, woman,” he groans, nipping at the skin of her neck with his teeth. “You’re soaking my hand, you know that?”

 

“All-  _ oh _ … All afternoon,” she gasps out. 

 

“You been like this since the party?” he asks. 

 

“Yeah, I… I…” She can’t finish the thought, though. His free hand has moved up to cup her breast, slipping beneath her bra to roll her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. It’s beyond distracting. In the best possible way. He tugs slightly and it’s like her nipple as a direct link to her core. She bucks against his hand and sobs his name, but he swallows the sound by pressing his mouth to hers. 

 

The heat is sweltering, both her body and the barely fading heat of the September afternoon. Her whole body is slick with sweat from exertion and the environment. His grip on her dampened breast is slippery and she wants… she wants  _ everything _ . Beyond reason, beyond description. She wants to feel and be lost in a wash of sensation with nothing but the pounding of her too-fast heartbeat linking her back to the here and now. 

 

“Love how loud you are,” Alex murmurs barely an inch from her mouth when their lips part. She’s all gasps for air as she tries to guide his hand to speed things up. He’s not having it, though. Not yet. “Gonna tell me what you want?” he asks. And, fuck but that devil-may-care grin on his smug face is enough to make her stomach swoop. 

 

“Harder,” she demands. 

 

“Like this?” he asks, tugging harder at her nipple. “Or like this?” His thumb goes flat against her clit, rubbing at a steady pace. 

 

“Both,” she chokes out. It takes effort though and she’s barely able to form the thought, much less the word. 

 

The grunt of approval he makes has the heat coiling even more, burning in her gut and pressing down on her like the late summer air is a living thing, blanketing them both. 

 

“You’re gonna come with my fingers inside you, okay?” he asks. It sounds more like a statement than a question. “I want them deep inside you when you come. I wanna feel you tighten around me.”

 

She bites her lip and nods fiercely, her heart hammering in her throat and her breath too fast and too shallow. But she still lets out a pathetic, needy whimper at the loss of pressure when his hand shifts. The void he leaves doesn’t last long, though. She cries out and scrambles with one foot on the tile floor and one heel digging into the sofa as she presses into the two fingers sinking inside her. 

 

His hands are big, so much larger than her own, and it’s been a long time since she’s been with anyone, so the welcome intrusion feels fuller than she’d imagined. 

 

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, pumping his fingers inside her as his thumb returns to rub small, steady circles against her clit again. “You good?” 

 

“So…” she chokes out, nodding and grinding her ass back against his groin. “So… good. I… Alex.”

 

He grunts but keeps his hips still, concentrating entirely on her. “Look at me, Chula,” he tells her. “You’re close, yeah? Eyes on me, Julianna. I got you.” 

 

She looks back and meets his eyes, so heated, so full of things she can’t yet pinpoint. 

 

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, holding her gaze. 

 

He’s definitely moving purposefully now and she feels everything building ever higher. All of the muscles in her body tense up more and more. Her breath is thready and her pulse racing, but all she sees is Alex. All she hears is Alex. He surrounds her, fills her, makes her feel whole in a way she hasn’t for a very long time.  

 

“Look at you, so fucking hot,” he tells her. She doesn’t need to be worked up more. She’s painfully close and they both know it, but he continues on anyhow. “Te deseo tanto. I wanna see you fall apart with my name on your lips while you ride my fingers. Don’t be quiet, Julianna. I want all of it. I wanna hear you.”

 

She breaks suddenly with the sound of his voice ringing in her ears and a desperate, primal scream of his name on her lips. One of her hands reaches back and grips his hair as she pumps her hips mindlessly against his hand. Every sense she has is  _ alive _ . Her skin sings with his touch and the low rumble of his voice echoes in her ears. The last thing she sees before she can’t fight against it and has to shut her eyes is the intense, hungry way he’s staring at her and biting his lip. 

 

It’s overwhelming, drowns her in a sea of sensation that she’s been quietly craving for ages. 

 

She hovers on an edge of bliss for what seems like forever, feeling absolutely nothing but overwhelming pleasure. It’s been years since she felt this pure sense of peace and euphoria. She lingers there for the longest time, only starting to come back down as she realizes his hand has stilled and he’s kissing her softly. Not just on her lips, though. No, his kiss trails across her face. Her temple. Her cheek. The curve of her jaw. 

 

“Alex,” she breathes. 

 

“Eres increíble, Julianna,” he says against her lips as he finally reaches her mouth. 

 

There’s still a buzz in her veins as she kisses him back, soft and slow and a little lazy. When they part and she looks him in the eyes again, she gives a little laugh as she says, “I don’t have any clue what that means, you know.” 

 

He replies with a half smile that looks a little sad and says, “I know.” 

 

It’s clear that he isn’t about to translate, but her current thoughts don’t require a whole lot of words anyhow. She shifts a little and he withdraws his hand from her and settles his slickened fingers against her hip. 

 

“You know what I think?” she asks, feeling light and more than a little playful. She twists fully so she’s lying atop him, face to face. 

 

“Can’t even guess,” he says with an affectionate smile and a slight crinkle at the edge of his eyes.

 

“I think I want to see you fall apart with my name on  _ your _ lips, next,” she declares, propping herself up on one elbow and running her hand down his chest toward his groin. 

 

She never quite makes it, though. He hand grips her wrist to still her progress. Questions flit through her mind at rapid-fire pace as she looks back up at him to find a pained, longing look living in his eyes. 

 

“I told you, Julianna,” he reminds her. “I can’t do casual.”

 

“But…” she says, frowning. “We just…”

 

“ _ You _ just,” he corrects. “I’m never gonna be able to turn you down. I know that. You breeze into my place like a little hurricane all your own and it’s all I can do to stay standing. But I can’t give you part of me unless you want the whole thing. And you don’t.”

 

To call her shell-shocked would be an understatement. She sits up and watches him like she’s waiting for some kind of a punchline. 

 

“You’ll get me off but you won’t let me touch you unless we’re… What? Going steady?” she snarks, suddenly feeling defensive. 

 

“Might still have a letterman’s jacket you can have if you want it, but I wasn’t thinking nothing so formal as that,” Alex replies. 

 

“Then what is it you want, Alex?” she asks. “Because I’m just a little confused right now.”

 

“I wanna take you to dinner,” he tells her. “And I wanna hold your hand when we walk to the car. And I wanna kiss you without caring who’s watching.”

 

Wariness settles over her like a heavy fog, clouding out the earlier sense of rightness that had filled her entirely. 

 

“I’m not looking for a boyfriend,” she tells him bluntly. 

 

“And I’m not looking for a fuck buddy,” he replies, just as clearly. 

 

A frustrated noise of disbelief lodges itself in the back of her throat and she finds herself shaking her head and staring at the wall behind his head. 

 

“Fine,” she decides, getting off of him and re-doing her pants. “Fine. Whatever. This was just for fun anyhow. It’s not like any of it matters.”

 

He laughs dryly at that. “Julianna, that’s exactly the problem.”   

 

She doesn’t say goodbye as she goes, instead stalking toward the door with an annoyance that makes her grit her teeth and her jaw tighten. 

 

“Call me when you change your mind,” she says before leaving, slamming the door shut with a resounding thud behind her. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy We've-Posted-One-Million-Words-In-FiCoN-Have-An-Extra-Chapter Day! Or, alternately, Happy January Finally Ended Day! Either way, enjoy!

In the two weeks that follow her encounter with Alex, Jules wakes up no less than half a dozen times with the scent of barbeque clinging to her nose and the image of Jackson’s face lingering in her mind’s eye. He’s so sad. And every time, she wakes with an apology on her lips and a rising sense of panic sitting in her chest.

 

Alex doesn’t call. That’s just as well, she decides. As amazing as that entire experience had been, she hadn’t anticipated the way she would feel after, the crushing sense of betrayal she’s woken up with night after night. 

 

She has enough guilt as it is. She doesn’t need more. 

 

But her mind keeps wandering back to that night, to the feel of his hands on her body. And, frustratingly, she finds she needs a distraction from her distraction. 

 

What a mess. 

 

Today is easier, though. Today is Sunday. Today means family dinner and training together. She always looks forward to that, but there’s a new sense of relief in dedicated time with her family these last few weeks. When she’s with them there’s always something to keep her busy and engaged. 

 

Morning had dissolved away in a blur of paint and canvas. In the afternoon that followed she’d actually hung around the gallery itself, discussing her work with prospective buyers. Usually, she only does that sort of thing for showings or special appointments. She’s not overly fond of making pleasantries with people. It’s gone poorly in the past. But, this time when she leaves for the day and heads toward her parents’ house, she hasn’t yelled at a single window-shopper and she hasn’t called anyone simplistic even once. Call it growth. Her employee Martin certainly had. Displaying absolutely no maturity whatsoever, she’d rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him. Per usual, he’d taken it well. 

 

She almost feels settled by the time she finds a parking spot near her parents’ house and treks her way to their door with Bokeh in tow. It’s first-come first-serve on the driveway parking spot and today Ellie beat her here. But Jules doesn’t mind. Bokeh needs a bit of time to enjoy the outdoors after being cooped up with her in the gallery all day, anyhow. That much is obvious when the lab stops to roll on her back in the smallest patch of grass that Jules has ever seen. 

 

“You’re ridiculous, you know that right?” she asks the pup. If dogs could smile, this one would be. She seems in a total state of bliss and Jules can’t help smiling and shaking her head at the dog. “You’re gonna be all dirty now and mom’s going to boot you out back while we eat. Don’t you dare scratch at her door. Do you hear me?”

 

“Like she’s gonna answer?”

 

Jules looks toward her parents’ front stoop to find her little brother staring at her like she’s nuts. 

 

‘Little’ might be a bit of a misnomer at this point, though. At seventeen, Nate’s definitely taller than her. He’s taller than Will, too, and closing in fast on their dad. But he’s only just starting to lose that newborn giraffe look. He’s been all legs and arms and neck for years, perpetually stuck in that awkward stage of teenagerdom that seems to haunt boys, especially the taller ones. Every time she sees him lately he looks a little more like he’s growing into himself. It’s a strange thing to realize. She’s seven years older than him, after all, and in a lot of ways he’s stuck in her head as the little boy who’d clung to their mom’s hand and cried when he got busted sneaking cookies.

 

Okay, so he cried when he got busted stealing cookies because she’d put him up to it, but that’s really not the point. 

 

“She  _ might _ reply,” Jules protests, squatting down and rubbing the dog’s belly. The lab wriggles happily in the grass, tail thumping against the brick pavers of the neighbor’s walkway. “You understand everything I’m saying, don’t you?” Jules asks as the dog whines like she’s trying to talk back. “Such a good girl.”

 

Nate hikes his duffle bag higher up on his shoulder. “You’re crazy.”

 

“And you,” she says slowly as she stands, “have no imagination whatsoever.”

 

“Thanks,” he replies dryly. He really doesn’t look bothered by her comment in the least.

 

“You just getting home?” Jules asks, heading toward him and whistling for Bokeh to follow. 

 

“Yeah,” Nate replies. “I had practice.”

 

“Swim team?” 

 

“No, track and field today,” he says as she closes in next to him right in front of the door and stops.

 

“Well, look at you, Nater-Tater-Bug” she says, eyes widened in feigned astonishment. “Turning into quite the budding athlete, aren’t you?” Her nose crinkles. “You definitely have the smell to go along with it.”

 

He rolls his eyes with an annoyed sigh, suddenly looking every inch the little boy that spilled her paint and tried to feed his vegetables to her dog. He opens the door to the house and gestures for her to go in ahead of him.

 

“Such a little gentleman,” she grins, patting his cheek. He grits his teeth and puts up with it. 

 

“Thanks, Jules,” he deadpans as she walks past. 

 

She pays him little heed as she walks in, suddenly surrounded by the comfort of memories and home. “Hey!” Jules shouts, tossing her keys onto the entry table and grabbing the edge of Bokeh’s collar. 

 

“Hey, Jules,” her mom shouts back from the kitchen. “Be right there. Just getting dinner ready.”

 

Nate and Jules both freeze, giving each other a wary look. 

 

“ _ Run for it _ ?” Nate mouths. 

 

Jules can’t help cracking an enormous grin at that. Apparently her baby brother  _ can _ have a sense of humor sometimes.

 

“You’re… uh… you’re cooking?” Jules shouts back as Nate cringes. 

 

“God, no,” Felicity counters, her head suddenly emerging from the archway. “I’m tossing together a salad. Pizza will be here in ten minutes. Dad’s running late.”

 

“Oh thank God,” Jules breathes out. Nate sags with relief next to her while their mom offers up a half-hearted scowl. 

 

“Cute, guys. Very cute,” she chastises before refocusing. “Nate, honey, why don’t you go toss your bag in the laundry room and wash up. Jules, do you want to go get your sister and let her know it’s almost dinnertime? She’s downstairs.”

 

That sparks Jules’ interest and she quirks her head at her mother. “She’s training?” Jules asks. 

 

“No,” Felicity replies slowly, in a way that leads Jules to think there’s more going on than she knows yet. “She’s going through some stuff Eric found, trying to see how it lines up…  _ if _ it lines up. It might not. Not all lines intersect, obviously. Though I really don’t think these are parallel, so-”

 

“ _ Mom _ ,” Jules cuts her off. Her mother stop with a vaguely apologetic look. “What did Eric find?”

 

Hesitation flits across her mother’s face. When she settles on something, the smile on her face is tight and small. 

 

“Let’s talk about it after dinner, okay?” her mom suggests. 

 

“You’re stalling for dad,” Jules accuses. She’s hit the nail on the head with that and it’s obvious from her mother’s tempered response. 

 

“Just grab your sister and wash up, please?” she replies, raising both eyebrows. It makes her question feel more like a command. The way her tone compels Jules to do as she’s told is a mom superpower, Jules thinks. It has to be.

 

“Fine,” she grumbles, feeling like a kid again.

 

“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” Nate announces. 

 

“Please do,” Jules snarks immediately, the words flowing out like muscle memory. She wrinkles her nose and pinches the end of it as she shakes her head at her brother.

 

“Nice, Jules,” he replies sourly. “Very mature.”

 

“Between the two of us, I - dear little brother - am the fully grown adult.”

 

“Adult, maybe. Fully grown?” He pats the top of her head. “I hope not.”

 

“You ass,” she gasps before swatting his hand away. “ _ Ew, _ and you’re all sweaty, too.”

 

“Tends to happen with exercise, Jules,” he points out with a face that screams  _ duh _ . 

 

Jules grins. “Sure, but you’re so neat I just sort of assumed the sweat immediately evaporated out of fear that it might mess with your sense of cleanliness.”

 

Nate just blinks at her. “I’m gonna go take a quick shower,” he repeats. 

 

“Don’t forget behind your ears!” Jules shouts after him as he tromps up the stairs, waving at her without turning back around. 

 

Her mother sighs. “Jules…”

 

“What? It’s fun,” Jules protests. “It’s my job to pick on him, you know. I  _ am _ his big sister.” 

 

“Mhm,” her mother agrees slowly. “And he has  _ three _ older siblings to pick on him, you know.” 

 

“Little Miss Sunshine doesn’t pick on anyone,” Jules points out. “And Will’s more likely to tease him about girls. Where  _ is _ Will anyhow?” She looks around, realizing suddenly she hasn’t seen her older brother since she got here. 

 

“Work,” her mom says a little sadly. “He’ll be here next weekend, though.” 

 

Jules pouts at that, but it’s also a bit of a relief. Despite the fact that it’s not his business and there apparently isn’t much going on anyhow, based on the lack of calls, she still feels weird keeping what happened with Alex from him. It’s stupid, really. She doesn’t owe Will anything and she definitely hadn’t cared in the heat of the moment. It’s not like she’s never kept things from her family before, so why is this any different?

 

The doorbell rings.

 

“Oh! That’s the pizza,” her mom says. “Grab your sister. I just need to finish chopping some veggies for the salad.”

 

With that her mom hurries toward the door and Jules makes her way downstairs, Bokeh at her side. If her mom hadn’t objected to the dog’s presence in the house despite a bit of dirt, she wasn’t going to boot her pup out back. Bokeh’s always happier with people or other dogs, but it’s just been her and Jules for a while now. The dog greatly prefers to have her in sight at all times.

 

Ellie, though, is surely another one of her favorites. 

 

They’re halfway down the stairs to the basement workout space when Bokeh spots Ellie below and bolts with happy yips and a fast-thumping tail. By the time Jules gets to the landing, the lab is leaning her whole body into Ellie’s thigh and staring up at her adoringly as the girl scratches behind her ear. 

 

“Traitor,” Jules tells the pup, feigning offense. The dog doesn’t get it, of course. She just keeps that happy goofy look on her face and licks at Jules’ hand before going back to staring at Ellie. 

 

“She just knows who gives the best ear scratches,” Ellie replies with a smug little shrug. 

 

“She knows who sneaks her bits of food beneath the table is what she knows,” Jules retorts before shifting gears. “What are you working on? Mom said Eric found something.”

 

Ellie visibly hems and haws before answering. She sighs, eyes darting back to the computer she’d been working on. It’s been set up in the corner of the basement for ages, a work-space for their mom to get Arrow business done from home without using her work computer. 

 

It probably doesn’t hurt that it’s got a direct line of sight to her dad’s salmon ladder, but that’s definitely not something Jules wants to think about too hard. 

 

“Yeah,” Ellie finally agrees. “I mean sort of. There’s almost too much.”

 

“What do you mean?” Jules asks, looking past her sister toward the monitor. There’s some sort of spreadsheet up and more tabs than she can count. “What is this?”

 

“So, we’ve got two of the hitmen IDed, right?” Ellie asks, hopping up onto the desk and crossing her legs at the ankles. “We’ve been looking into them and connecting some dots.”

 

Jules narrows her eyes. “And you didn’t tell me this,  _ why _ ?” 

 

“‘Cause you’ll go down the rabbit hole?” Ellie suggests. “You  _ know _ what you were like in the months after it happened. No one wants to see you like that again.”

 

Rationally, Jules can understand that. Time blurs and bends in impossible ways in her memories of the aftermath of Jackson’s death. Sometimes it seems like the pain stretched out forever, like the grief she drowned in gave her a heightened awareness of every single second. Others, it feels like she blinked and months had passed, seasons faded away without her notice and she’d woken up in a completely different time. Grief can do that, she knows now. It’s a brutal and bitter companion to carry with you. 

 

“It’s been three years,” Jules points out. “I want to get the bastard who did this, but I’m not going to lose myself in the process. Okay?”

 

Ellie doesn’t look convinced, but she does give a clipped, “Okay,” before continuing on. “With two of these guys identified, we’ve been looking for likely identities on the third and fourth,” she explains, gesturing toward the computer screen. “They both have links to the Bertinelli family, so odds are pretty good that the other two do, too.”

 

“So the Italian mob put a hit out on us?” Jules questions. “That doesn’t make sense. They were imploding at the time. Lieutenants dropping left and right while they grappled to be top dog. They were barely even on our radar.”

 

“I know.” Ellie grimaces. “But disenfranchised hitmen without a mob to fall back on are a hell of a resource for someone.”

 

Jules pauses to consider that. “You think someone took advantage of the Bertinelli clan falling apart and poached their go-to murder squad?”

 

“I definitely think it’s possible, anyhow,” Ellie tells her. “If I were a big bad with a giant murder plot, I’d look for desperate fall guys to mask what I was doing.”

 

Jules stares blankly at her sister for a long moment. “Remind me not to get on your bad side,” she says. 

 

The long-suffering look of disbelief on Ellie’s face is expected. “I’m not gonna snap and go murder-crazy, so I think you’re good,” the blonde snarks. “ _ Anyhow _ … we’re looking into what both of the men did in the days leading up to the attack.”

 

“And?” Jules asks. Her fingers rub at Bokeh’s ear like it’s a tactile crutch she needs to ground herself. 

 

“Cell phone records got us absolutely nowhere. Both of them must’ve used burner phones,” Ellie explains. “And credit card charges didn’t get us anything at all, but facial recognition programs did.”

 

“And what’s that?” Jules demands.

 

“A neighborhood,” Ellie replies, alt-tabbing and bringing up a city map. “Or, actually, a couple of square city blocks. Traffic camera records snagged them both in this area more than once.”

 

Jules leans closer to look as Ellie points to a spot on the lower west side. She searches her memory, thinks through years of tromping around this city, tries to recall what exactly sits in this spot. She’s got nothing. 

 

“What’s there?” Jules asks. 

 

“Nothing,” Ellie replies. “Both of these men were spotted around these blocks in the weeks leading up to the attack. Walking by coffee shops, pumping gas, driving along all of these perimeter roads.”    

 

“You don’t go out of your way for gas,” Jules muses. “You get it whenever you run low as you go about your day. And it’s a rare person who goes out of their way for coffee.”

 

“Exactly,” Ellie agrees. “So what were they doing for days buying things all around  _ these _ blocks, where there’s absolutely nothing except a torn down apartment building and an empty lot next door?”

 

“Zoom out a bit?” Jules requests, working things through in her head. Ellie does and Jules scans the bigger picture with a critical eye. “This is in the old Italian territory, but not by much. The Irish were taking it over by 2036, little by little, and warring with Domino’s men who were angling to take it over.”

 

“It’s definitely Domino’s foothold now,” Ellie agrees. “But historically it was at the heart of the Bertinelli grounds. They only really lost it when Helena Bertinelli died. They lost basically  _ everything  _ when Helena died. She was the last Bertinelli and most of the mob rallied around her after she got out of prison.”

 

Something tickles at the back of Jules’ head but she can’t quite pinpoint it. “I don’t remember her dying,” Jules says. “I mean, I know it happened, but I don’t  _ remember _ it happening.”

 

“That’s because it was four days after Jackson died,” Ellie tells her. “She took three bullets to the chest and one to the face as she was leaving a restaurant. One of the guys who’d been aiming for the top spot with the mob before she got released from prison was convicted of her murder later.”

 

“Where was the restaurant?” Jules asks, tilting her head toward the map. 

 

“Uh… hang on,” Ellie says, swapping back to her spreadsheet tab and doing a quick search before going back to the map. “Here,” she says. “Three blocks from the empty hole in the middle of all of those cameras we spotted the hitmen at.”

 

Jules hums and studies the map like answers might pop out at her if she stares at it long enough. 

 

“What are you thinking?” Ellie asks. 

 

“I’m thinking that we’re missing something,” Jules replies. “And I’m thinking Helena’s murder was connected to Jackson’s.” 

 

“Jules… it’s crazy timing, I know. And the location thing is weird, but it’s not like this isn’t all Italian mob turf,” Ellie points out gently. “That doesn’t mean-”

 

“Jackson’s last name was Salvati,” Jules cuts her off. 

 

“Well, I know that,” Ellie admits. “And I know his family had mob ties, but that was before he was even born. What makes you think it’s linked now?”

 

“Because Nick Salvati was Jackson’s uncle,” Jules informs her with rising confidence. “He killed Helena Bertinelli’s fiance. And there’s  _ way _ too much here to be a coincidence.”


	8. Chapter 8

A buzz of excitement threads its way through dinner, the likes of which Jules can’t remember feeling for a while. She’s not only optimistic about their progress in finding the person ultimately responsible for Jackson’s death, but also feels like a weight of guilt she hadn’t known she’d been carrying lifts right off her shoulders. 

 

Maybe Jackson’s death really had nothing to do with her.  _ Maybe _ he’d been a target all along. 

 

Maybe it wasn’t her fault.

 

For the first time in three years she feels like she can really breathe. She feels light,  _ alive _ in a new way - or maybe in a very old one - and it has her smiling as she licks barbeque sauce from her fingers, polishing off her slice of pizza. 

 

“He’d always said his uncle was the only one with mob ties. It didn’t really matter to him because it was such ancient history,” she rambles. “And I didn’t question it then because why would I? But maybe he was wrong. If there was another Salvati gunning for Helena’s position at the top, maybe someone tried to use him as leverage. Or payback. We should’ve looked into this  _ years _ ago.”

 

“We… should eat our salad and wait for your dad to come home to talk,” her mom says. 

 

It’s not what Jules wants to hear. But she’s in a good enough mood that there’s very little capable of bringing her down right now. 

 

“No harm in theorizing until he gets here,” she points out with a broad grin and a light laugh. “Just gives us a better starting point.”

 

“I know,” her mom agrees, setting her fork down and looking her daughter squarely in the eye. “But I don’t want you to get too committed to this idea. It bears looking into again, yes. Especially given the location details on the hitmen. But it’s not like your dad and I didn’t look into the Salvati family years ago.”

 

“Sure, but we have new information now!” 

 

“And that’s why it’s worth looking into,” her mom acknowledges. “But honey, you’re forgetting something.”

 

“And what’s that?” she demands. 

 

It’s not her mother that answers her, though. No, it’s Nate. Nate who - for once in his life - has barely touched the food on his plate. 

 

“That they came after  _ all _ of us,” he snaps. 

 

The anger and tension that laces his voice hits her like a brick wall and Jules finds herself staring in shock at her little brother. His cheeks are red and his hands clenched, his jaw so tense he looks like he might crack a tooth at any moment. 

 

“They sent  _ four _ hitmen, Jules, not one,” Nate points out. “Four.”

 

“I know, but-”

 

“No, Jules. You don’t,” Nate announces fiercely. She’s not sure she’s ever seen her little brother this angry. His fist clenches hard around his fork and the strain of the conversation is beyond evident in the look in his eyes, the tightness in his neck. “You obviously don’t because you’re here smiling and laughing about tracking down this person who tried to kill all of us.”

 

“Nate,” their mom says softly, placing a hand on her son’s wrist. 

 

He doesn’t respond, though. He doesn’t even look in her direction.

 

“He took  _ three shots _ at me, Jules,” Nate shouts. “Three bullets aimed right at me while I was sitting in the library writing a damned paper on ‘Of Mice And Men’ and suddenly Dad was there tackling me to the ground. Two bullets hit the chair I was in and another shattered my laptop, so don’t sit here and tell me that it wasn’t about  _ me _ because it fucking was.”

 

It’s like a verbal slap to the face and Jules finds herself recoiling, closing in on herself in typical fashion like a cobra ready to strike out in defense. 

 

“Forgive me for being happy about the possibility of finally finding some closure on the murder of the man I love,” Jules snaps. 

 

“Yeah, well forgive me if I’m not happy about my whole family running off to chase after a murderer who already tried to kill us all once!” Nate yells back, his voice booming full force.

 

“ _ Nate _ ,” their mom says again. This time it’s harsh enough that everyone looks at her. “Honey, you’re bleeding.”

 

He looks down at his hand like he doesn’t recognize it, like it might belong to someone else.  Sure enough, there’s blood dripping from his thumb where he’s pierced it with one of his fork prongs. 

 

“I’m fine,” he mumbles, staring down and staunchly avoiding anyone’s eyes. It’s just a trickle of blood, but he wraps his finger up in a napkin anyhow to keep it from sight as he pushes his chair back. “I’m just gonna clean up. I wasn’t really hungry anyhow.”

 

Jules isn’t at all surprised to find her mom stands immediately to follow after him.  

 

“Mom, it’s fine,” he says, waving her off. “I’m fine. Enjoy your dinner.”

 

There’s a long quiet moment that follows where the only sound is Nate’s footfalls as he works his way upstairs, taking two steps at a time. Felicity stands there, staring after the direction he’d disappeared with worried eyes as she wrings her hands. It stays uncharacteristically silent until Ellie clears her throat.

 

“So…” she says. Jules and Felicity both turn to look at her. “That was exciting.”

 

It’s a weak ice-breaker but still enough for Felicity to sigh and drop back down into her seat. 

 

“He just needs some time, Mom,” Ellie assures her. “This is hard for him and he wasn’t expecting it. He doesn’t know how to deal.”

 

“Like I do?” Felicity laughs wetly in reply. She brushes it off quickly though, dragging a hand through her hair and taking a cleansing breath. “I’m sorry. You’re both right. He’ll be okay and it’s a good thing that we have real clues to work with. You deserve some sense of resolution to all of this, Julie-Bug.”

 

“It’s okay that you’re scared, though,” Jules acknowledges. “I mean, yes, I really want justice for Jackson. But I get why you’re anxious about us going after whoever did it. They’re dangerous.”

 

“Oh, honey. It’s not just this particular truly terrible person that makes me nervous,” her mom tells her with a softly knowing look. “I’m a mother of two vigilantes, a firefighter and a teenage boy who manages to pierce his thumb with a dinner fork. I’m always scared for you guys. That’s just what being a parent is.”

 

“Way to sell the experience, Mom,” Ellie notes dryly, taking a sip of her water. 

 

“It’s worth it,” her mom assures her. She’s all soft affection and loving eyes when she reaches out both hands across the table to hold on to both of her daughters. “That’s why you worry so much. You have so much to lose.”

 

Jules looks down at the hand linked with her mother’s and lets those words soak in. A few years ago, she wouldn’t have understood her mother’s statement. Or, at least, she wouldn’t have understood that they applied to her. But time progresses and with it understanding. Her mother’s unwavering support in the wake of Jackson’s death, the way she was there day-in and day-out helping her pick herself back up, it’s shown her beyond question that her mother loves her every bit as much as Ellie and Nate. It’s shown her that both her parents do, even if her father’s methods are more centered on knocking thugs’ heads together until they talk.

 

“You’re not gonna lose us,” Jules says, brushing her thumb across her mom’s knuckles. 

 

“Oh, baby… you really can’t promise that,” her mom counters softly. “But you can promise me that you’ll be careful. You both live such meaningful lives and your dad and I are very, very proud of you for that. We accept there’s some risk involved. All we can ask is that you don’t take on unnecessary risk, too.”

 

That’s a little heavy for Jules’ taste. At her side, Ellie’s nodding seriously - which is appropriate given her early history trying to be a part of the team - but Jules has to take the glib approach. 

 

“I vow not to stab my finger with any dining utensils,” she promises. 

 

The groan from Ellie and long-suffering sigh from her mom is pretty much exactly what Jules was going for and it brings a lightness that’s much needed. 

 

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t have gone after this guy all on your own without any regard for your own safety in those first months, Jules,” her mom says. Jules gives an uncomfortable half-shrug because she really can’t contradict her there. It’s absolutely true. But thankfully her mother isn’t waiting for a bigger response. She lets go of both of her daughters’ hands and pushes back her chair. “But, speaking of stabbed fingers… I’m gonna go have a chat with your brother.”

 

As she starts to leave the room, the distinctive sound of the front door announces Oliver’s presence. Jules and Ellie both watch as their mom lingers in the dining room doorway until their dad rounds the corner. 

 

“Hey,” she greets him, sliding a hand down his arm and kissing him gently in greeting. 

 

“Hey yourself,” he counters. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was awful.” The quiet tension of the room surely speaks volumes and he glances at both Ellie and Jules before asking, “Everything okay?”

 

“Yeah.” Felicity sighs. “Just a bit of a blow up from Nate. I’m gonna go talk to him. You should eat.” 

 

“You sure?” he asks, concern etching itself into the thin lines of his face. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

 

“Maybe later,” Felicity replies. “Lemme take a crack at this one. Sit down and enjoy the pizza. Visit with the girls. This might take a bit.”

 

“Okay,” he agrees, but his brow furrows with concern that Jules knows will linger. “Let me know if you need backup.”

 

“That’s supposed to be my line, Arrow.” 

 

With a wink, she squeezes his arm before stepping away. Oliver grins as he watches her go, eyes lingering on her until she’s out of sight. It’s cute, Jules thinks, how sappy her parents are about each other. Not that she’d ever tell either of  _ them _ that. 

 

She’s done eating, but she and Ellie both stick around while their dad enjoys his meal. Filling him in on what happened with Nate and Jules’ suspicions about the clues they’ve found has the breath sticking strangely in Jules’ throat. Her dad has decades of experience with the Italian mob, knew both Helena Bertinelli and Nick Salvati personally, and he’s been looking into Jackson’s murder for years. Part of Jules  _ needs _ him to agree with her, needs that voice of learned support championing her theory. 

 

But the slower he chews his food and watches her, the more uneasy she feels. By the time he actually responds, she’s fidgeting in her seat. Bokeh, who’s sat quietly at her feet since Ellie finished eating and stopped trying to sneak the dog pieces of pepperoni, picks up on her anxiety and starts licking her hand in silent support. 

 

“It’s worth looking into,” her father finally says. She exhales on a nervous laugh of relief before he continues on. “But Jules, I don’t want you to get your hopes up on this. Jackson being a potential target is far from a sure thing.”

 

“Of course,” she replies, brushing it off… as if she hasn’t already entirely committed herself to this idea. “I know that.”

 

He doesn’t believe her, but he also doesn’t call her out. And, soon enough, Ellie distracts him with chatter about how to improve her darts. But even that is cut short when their mother’s voice raises from the floor above them. 

 

“ _ Nathaniel Thomas, _ don’t you  _ dare  _ blame that on her!” 

 

The rest is muffled but Jules doesn’t have to hear the words to know Nate’s scared and angry, lashing out at whoever’s most convenient. Right now, Jules suspects that’s her. But her mom is bearing the brunt of it at the moment. 

 

“Excuse me,” Oliver says, pushing back his chair with a grimace and looking in the general direction of the stairs. “You girls mind cleaning up? I think we’re gonna cancel training tonight.” 

 

“That’s okay, actually. I wanted to get to the foundation early tomorrow and breeze through some paperwork. Don’t worry about the dishes. We’ve got this,” Ellie assures him.

 

Jules’ heart drops. She’d really been looking forward to a solid fight, relying on the distraction her family provides. But now… now maybe she has another distraction. She has a lead, anyhow. Or a location, at any rate.  

 

The girls clean up together in near silence. Bokeh - the traitor - staring adoringly up at Ellie the whole time. Jules never catches her sneaking food to the lab, but she’s pretty sure that’s only because Ellie can be very sneaky. 

 

Raised voices still drift down the stairs for a bit. Both Jules and her sister keep glancing at the stairwell in concern, but neither of them say anything for quite some time. Not until the resonating sound of a slammed door echoes through the house. 

 

“Told you I was worried about him,” Ellie reminds her quietly as a rush of heavy footfalls stomp down the stairs. 

 

“Nate…  _ Nate _ , where are you going?” their mom asks in exasperation, following on the seventeen-year-old’s heels. 

 

“I need air,” he bites out, not bothering to look back. “I’m taking a walk. Everyone try not to die hunting down the person who tried to have us killed while I’m gone, okay?”

 

The front door shuts with resounding finality, a harsh punctuation on the end of his statement. Ellie and Jules look at each other in silence, sharing a look of concern. Nate doesn’t do this. Not ever. And he definitely doesn’t talk to their mom like that. 

 

Felicity’s not used to it and it’s immediately clear she doesn’t know how to cope with her little boy brushing her off and storming out. She stands in the archway between the kitchen and living room looking toward the front door with a hand pressed to her forehead and a broken look on her face. 

 

“Hey, it’s okay,” their dad says, closing in on her and wrapping his arms around his wife. He presses a kiss to her hair and whispers, “It’ll be okay. Just give him time. He’s scared and he needs to work this through. He didn’t mean half of that.”

 

Felicity says nothing. She just turns in her husband’s arms to bury her face in his chest as he holds her.

 

Nate’s not the only one who’s scared, Jules thinks to herself.

 

“We’ve gotta do something,” Ellie whispers to her sister urgently. She looks like a woman on a mission, like her masked alter-ego. That’s something that resonates with Jules entirely

 

“Yeah,” she agrees decisively, tossing a dish towel onto the counter. “We’ve gotta finish this.”

 

Making excuses to her parents after that is easy. They’re wrapped up in their worry for Nate, especially her mom who keeps looking to the front door like maybe Nate will appear at any moment. Ellie is a little harder, mostly because she’d assumed that Jules would want to go over more of what she and Eric had found so far. But Jules reminds her sister that she’d wanted to get some paperwork done for the foundation in the morning before class, so she should probably get to sleep early. That works like a charm, except Ellie’s eyes still trail after her as Jules and Bokeh head out. 

 

It’s not quite dark yet when they leave. The setting sun shines like a homing beacon that Jules has every intention of tracking down. It’s not overtly Arrow business, so she doesn’t drop Bokeh off at home and she doesn’t change into Tempest. Instead, she steers her car toward the lower west side, toward that empty spot on the map where her questions linger. 

 

The power void in the old Italian mob territory has done strange things to it over the last few years. It’s a part of town that can’t seem to decide what it wants to be. Petty crime that organized crime had kept down flourished in its absence, but the residents in this part of the city had fought back against that. So has Team Arrow at times. And they’ve been particularly involved in trying to keep the Irish mob or Domino’s boys from capitalizing on the vacant spot at the top of the hierarchy. Mostly, they’ve succeeded. And with the recent election to City Council of a small business owner who’d once lived under the thumb of the Bertinelli family’s ‘protection,’ it does seem that the area is finally establishing its own identity. 

 

But scars from the Bertinelli family’s control still remain. 

 

As Jules parks her car on the edge of that empty block on the map, she can’t help thinking this is a sure sign of the damage left behind. 

 

The building that had once stood here had been an apartment building, but there’s little left of it now. Crumbled down to near nothingness on two sides, the badly damaged structure is fenced off with ‘no trespassing’ signs that Jules and Bokeh fully ignore.

 

A gap in the fence proves easy enough to slip through, probably left behind by some dealer or would-be looter picking over what’s left of the building. It comes in handy now, though, and makes it simple for Jules to cautiously explore the half-ruined building. 

 

Even though she tends toward a devil-may-care attitude, Jules isn’t foolhardy enough to actually go  _ into _ the portion of the building that still stands. It looks as though it could collapse if someone breathed on it too hard. But she does skirt around the perimeter, climbing over piles of broken down red brick and giant splinters of wood. Bokeh’s on high alert, deeply protective of her and uncertain of this setting, but Jules is pretty sure the building itself is empty. The lab would know if it weren’t vacant. 

 

But the street itself is a different story. 

 

“Girlie, what in sam hell do you think you’re doing in there?” 

 

On the other side of the fence stands a hunched, weathered-looking woman with a walker and a judgemental gaze.

 

“Can’t you  _ read, _ child? There’s signs all over this cursed place. Only somebody without a lick of common sense would go in there.”

 

It’s insulting, but Jules can’t help grinning a bit at the old woman’s no-nonsense statement.

 

“I wasn’t going in,” Jules tells her, closing in on the fence to talk to the woman. “Just looking from here.”

 

“Well you oughta be looking from  _ here _ ,” the woman tells her, thumping her walker down on the sidewalk emphatically. 

 

“I needed a closer look,” Jules tells her. “This is prime real estate in an up-and-coming area. It would be ideal for development. Any idea who owns it?”

 

Both of the woman’s gray caterpillar-eyebrows shoot up toward her hairline. “You  _ are _ crazy,” she declares. 

 

“Why is that?” Jules presses.

 

“I’ve lived in this neighborhood all my life, child,” the woman replies. “But I’ve never seen anything with as bad karma as this place has got. It’s cursed. You don’t want anything to do with it.”

 

“Maybe I like a challenge,” Jules counters. 

 

The woman scoffs. “That ain’t a challenge, girlie. It’s a deathtrap. You’d do best to forget this place, forget it’s even here. The rest of us sure have.”

 

“Why?” Jules asks. “What happened here?”

 

“It’s more like what didn’t,” the woman tells her. “The Family that used to run these parts came and went from here at all hours, doin’ all manner of things.”

 

“The Bertinellis?” Jules asks.

 

“It’s been three years since they finally fell apart.” The woman shakes her head. “You’d think I’d feel okay saying the name out loud by now. But old habits die hard and you didn’t talk about them if you wanted to have another conversation ever again for a very long time.”

 

“But the rest of the neighborhood is coming back to life,” Jules points out. “Why not this block, too?” 

 

“We’re a superstitious lot around here,” the woman tells her. “We all knew people who disappeared into there and never came out. Near-on thirty years ago it was a different story. It was a nice building. My sister even looked at a unit there. But all that changed when the Bertinelli girl’s fiance got murdered.”

 

“Excuse me?” Jules asks, her blood running cold. 

 

“Helena,” the woman clarifies. “She had this beau… Mitchell or Matthew or something.”

 

“Michael,” Jules supplies. “His name was Michael. And her father had Nick Salvati kill him.”

 

The woman nods. “You know the story then.”

 

“Are you telling me this was Helena Bertinelli’s apartment?” Jules asks, pointing back at the ruins. 

 

“Sure was,” the woman confirms with a crisp nod. “And what happened here drove her mad. Grief does funny things to people. You can look all that up if you want to. It was all over the papers when it happened. After her boy died, her father bought out the building and ran business out of it just to spite her. He was a real bastard, that man. His death might’ve thrown this neighborhood into chaos, but I was very happy to see him in the ground anyhow.”

 

“What happened to the building?” Jules presses. “How did it crumble like this? Why wasn’t it torn down the rest of the way?”

 

“Blew up the month after Helena got out of prison,” the woman replies. Her gaze is heavy and leaves no room for guesswork on what she thinks happened. “Took out a bunch of men warring for control of The Family with it. And I already told you, girl. The Bertinellis owned this land. It didn’t get torn down because Helena didn’t want it to be. It was a warning. Still is, I suppose. Some ghosts are best left undisturbed. Even Domino’s men don’t come here.”

 

Jules hears her, but she’s not much paying attention at the moment. Her head is racing too much for that. Looking back at the ruins of the building with fresh eyes, she lets her gaze skim over the crumbling brick facade.

 

“A month after she got out of prison?” Jules asks, looking back at the woman. “When was that exactly?”

 

“Just about four years now,” the woman tells her. “The blast rattled the whole neighborhood. It was a hell of a thing. Felt like The Undertaking all over again, though I suppose you’re too young to remember that, aren’t you?” 

 

“Yes,” Jules agrees. “I wasn’t born yet.”

 

“Child, let the ghosts rest,” the woman counsels. “You don’t want any part of this.”

 

“It’s far too late for that,” Jules echoes, glancing back at the building again. “Four years, you said? Not three?”

 

“Summer of ‘35,” the woman repeats. “I’ll never forget it. Things around here shifted dramatically with that.”

 

“How so?” Jules questions. 

 

“With so many lieutenants gunning for the top spot out of the way and with such a huge display of power, Helena firmed up her place at the top of the food chain,” says the woman. “Might not have seemed like it on the outside, but to those of us in the neighborhood, it felt like the Bertinelli family might be starting to have a real grip on this area again. Did right up ‘til Helena got gunned down with no one left to pick up the reins.”                      

 

“Awfully convenient, don’t you think?” Jules asks. “All the pawns who could be king taken out except the one who killed her and promptly got arrested for it?”

 

“You call it convenient. I call it karma,” the woman corrects. “Either way, it’s surely best left alone.”

 

“I’ll think about it,” Jules lies. 

 

The woman gives up, shaking her head and waving Jules off dismissively as she continues to hobble down the street. The last gasps of sunlight die on the horizon, leaving Jules standing on the rubble of an empire that failed to bury her beneath it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Alex is back next week. <3


	9. Chapter 9

Pieces of a puzzle rattle around Jules’ head, but she can’t fit any together, can’t make out the picture they’re trying to create. It’s both exciting, in that there are actual pieces to work with, and frustrating, because nothing quite makes sense.

 

But there’s one person in her life who always makes things seem just a bit clearer. And, truth be told, she’d wanted to talk to him anyhow. 

 

Will’s truck is out on a call when she gets to the firehouse, but she hangs around and waits for him to get back. He’s always told her that she’s welcome to drop by, but she’s never taken him up on that before and he’s definitely surprised when he gets back to find her standing there. 

 

“Jules?” he asks, heading toward her. 

 

His face is a study in panic and she immediately knows he’s reaching all the wrong conclusions based on her presence alone. He’s always been a worrier. 

 

“Everyone’s fine,” she tells him. He takes a shaky breath as he tries to calm himself down. “Sorry,” she adds. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

“Holy shit, Jules.” He laughs anxiously, lacing his hands together behind his head and staring skyward. “Way to shave a few years off my life.”

 

“This is why I call you Drama Queen,” she says dryly. “You know that, right?” 

 

“I want to say something snappy to that, but I’m trying to not have a heart attack right now,” Will replies. 

 

He’s still staring up upward, which means he misses the look on her face as his co-workers emerge from the truck as well. In hindsight, she should’ve known Alex would be there. Of  _ course _ he would be. Sara and Javi, too. But that hadn’t quite registered with Jules and she had definitely not been ready to see Alex, much less see him in his uniform. 

 

God _ damn, _ is he a sight for sore eyes. 

 

She’s never thought much of the firefighter uniform before, probably because she mostly associates it with her brother and Sara. On Alex, though… He’s tall and well-built and intense in the best way and the uniform only emphasizes all of that. She  _ loves _ it on him, loves it so much she wants to tear it right off of him. With his helmet in hand and jacket undone, she’s got a clear view of his undershirt and suspenders…  _ Fucking suspenders _ . The sudden impulse to walk over there, grip those elastic strips running down his chest and pull him in to taste his lips all over again hits her, makes her fingers tingle as if she’s already doing it. She wants that flash flood of passion and heat that’d swamped her the other night at his place. She wants it to fill her entire being all over again. She wants  _ him _ to fill her.

 

God, she wants him more than she should. 

 

“ _ Jules _ .” 

 

She jumps, her eyes snapping back to Will who’s got his hand on her elbow and a confused look on his face. 

 

“What’s going on, then?” he asks, glancing back to where she’d been staring. If Alex saw her, he makes no indication. She follows Will’s glance and sees Alex has turned away, having some kind of conversation with Sara and Javi. 

 

Will doesn’t seem to connect any of the dots. Thankfully. 

 

“Um, a few things,” Jules tells him. “You got a minute to visit? I don’t know how your job really works when you aren’t out responding to a crisis.”

 

“We can talk unless another call comes in,” he confirms, nodding toward the garage entrance. 

 

“Javi and I will take care of the truck,” Sara chimes in, tilting her chin up at Jules in greeting. 

 

“I got paperwork,” Alex adds, studiously not looking at Jules as he talks. “Take your time.”

 

Jules tries not to let her eyes linger on him. She mostly succeeds, but Sara still quirks an eyebrow at her. 

 

Will is oblivious to the line of her gaze, though. He leads her inside the building and up to what has to be a break room. Tossing his jacket over the back of a chair, he heads over to a small fridge and asks, “Do you want a Coke or something? I don’t recommend the coffee.”

 

“Nah, I’m fine,” Jules replies, glancing around the space before taking a seat in an armchair. “You’re not very sooty for just coming back from a call.”

 

“Faulty carbon monoxide detector,” Will informs her, cracking open a can of root beer and taking a sip. “Easy night so far… Are you here to change that?”

 

There’s a lot flitting through Jules’ mind, but what she says is, “I’m worried about Nate.”

 

Whatever reaction she expected, the cautious way Will tilts his head to the side and thinks through his words before he replies isn’t it.

 

“That’s funny because he’s worried about you,” Will tells her finally, setting his drink down on the coffee table and taking the seat nearest to hers. 

 

Jules blinks at him. “He  _ called _ you?” she asks. 

 

“Nate’s got every reason to be worried, Jules,” Will tells her instead of replying. “He’s the kinda guy who tries to process everything inside his own head instead of sharing it. Getting shot at really messed with him. And so did your grief. I think he’d like nothing more than to lock all of those experiences in a box and never think about them again.”

 

“Life doesn’t work like that,” Jules bites out. “And there’s still someone out there who hired hitmen to come after us or Jackson. Letting that slide is dangerous and unfair. Justice has to be more important than fear.”

 

Will chews on his lip and sighs, leaning back against the sagging sofa cushions before staring down at his hands in thought. 

 

“We never really talked about that night,” he finally says. He’s talking to his thumbnail, which is a calculated move and one that Jules is grateful for. Because he’s right. They haven’t. And if they’re going to now, she needs a moment to ready herself. 

 

“Did you see anything?” she asks. Her voice comes out small and weak. She hates it, but she presses on. “Anything I don’t know. Some detail. Something I missed. If they’d been after Jackson-”

 

“They weren’t after Jackson,” Will cuts her off. Everything about him says that he loathes having to tell her that. Pained eyes search hers and she pushes down the urge to argue with him that they can’t be  _ sure _ about that. That it’s possible he was the target after all. “Jules, they came after all of us. It wasn’t about Jackson. It was about us.”

 

“Not you,” she points out, desperation fueling her words. “Yes, there were four bodies in the cement and we assume they were all hitmen and someone was sent after all of us, but no one ever attacked you. So maybe we were wrong about the rest. Maybe there’s something we aren’t seeing.”

 

“My team swapped shifts that night,” he reminds her. “I wasn’t supposed to be working… And Dad found one of my windows at home had been jimmied open.”

 

Jules freezes at that, her heart pounding in her throat. “What?”

 

“They did come after me. I just wasn’t there for them to find,” Will tells her. “I don’t see any way that Jackson could’ve been the real target, Jules. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but… It’s the truth. I wish it weren’t.”

 

She’s not ready to accept that, isn’t ready to think about it at all, really. Not after finally having the suggestion implanted in her mind that maybe this wasn’t all her fault. Maybe it’d had nothing to do with her. She needs that sliver of hope, so she doesn’t let him challenge it. 

 

“What do you remember from that night?” Jules asks again. 

 

“You,” he answers with a wry laugh. “All I remember is you. Felicity hacked our radio signal and told us what was happening and I… after that it was just a blind panic to get to you.” 

 

He’s looking at her shoulder, but he’s not seeing her. Not right  _ now _ , anyhow. He’s lost in memories of that night. Jules had been wrapped up in her own pain at the time, and in the weeks and months that had followed. She’s never doubted how hard things had been for her whole family, but she’s never really seen proof of it from Will before now. 

 

“Jackson was dead before I got there,” Will remembers. “But even if we’d been there earlier, he wouldn’t have made it. Not with that wound. And you were just… clinging to him. Screaming like I’ve never heard someone scream. Dad tried to pull you away and you were covered in so much blood, Jules… so much blood. At first, I thought you might’ve been stabbed, too. I thought…” He lets out an unsteady breath, his voice cracking. “I might lose you and I…”

 

“Will…” she whispers. She can’t think of anything else to say, so she grabs his hand and holds on tight. 

 

He looks at her then, pulled back into the moment, and he smiles weakly. “I’ve never been that scared in my whole life. I know you’re wanting to hear that I saw some clue I overlooked at the time, but I didn’t. I wasn’t a fireman that night. I was just a brother. And you were the only thing I saw.”

 

She doesn’t even think about it when she pushes out of her chair and hugs her brother. 

 

“I’m okay,” she reminds him, murmuring into his shoulder. “I’m okay.”

 

“Yeah,” he breathes out. It’s like he exhales the strain of those memories with that single word. His whole body sags a little as he holds onto her. “Remember that, ‘kay?”

 

She pulls back in surprise at that and waits for a bit more of an explanation. 

 

“I don’t know any more than you do,” he continues. “Probably less at this point, actually. But I don’t think this was about Jackson. I think it was about us. Either way, though… you  _ are _ okay. You’ve fought to be okay. Don’t forget that.”

 

It takes her a second to respond and when she finally does, it’s a small nod that she doesn’t register she’s doing until she lets him go and stands. She echoes it with a quiet, “Yeah,” but it’s entirely for his benefit. 

 

Judging by the way his face tightens, he knows it, too. Before he can say anything, though, someone else enters the room.

 

She doesn’t have to look to know it’s Alex. His gaze lands on her, burning a hole of awareness in the center of her back in a way that is only his. It’s kind of amazing how that’s even possible considering they’ve barely spent any time together… except they also have. And the proof of that comes when she shivers, sending little bursts of electricity across her body. She hasn’t even looked at him yet and it already feels like his fingers are dragging down her front, over her breasts, her stomach, down… like she’s right back on that sofa with him, aching to fall apart.

 

It’s a welcome distraction.

 

“Just grabbing some coffee,” Alex says apologetically, confirming his presence. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

 

Jules glances back and immediately wishes she hadn’t because he’s staring right at her in a way that does more than set her entire being on fire before Will reminds both of them of his presence.

 

“Coffee’s old by now,” her brother notes and Jules nearly bites through her tongue. How is it even possible that she nearly forgot about him? “Might wanna make a new pot.”

 

“Yeah,” Alex replies. “Probably a good idea. I got a lot of paperwork to do tonight. Loads of little calls, you know? That’ll take a bit. I gotta stay up. Sara went to go take a nap, though. And Javi’s hitting the shower.”

 

Does he really need to explain so much? His voice is unfair. All she can think about is the low rumble right in her ear, telling her not to be quiet, telling her to look at him. God, she wants that again, wants to feel him consuming her and sending her mind spiraling into an abyss of pleasure where nothing else matters. 

 

A burst of warmth in her core has her shifting slightly, rotating her shoulders in an effort to expel it. It doesn’t work, and it doesn’t help that she catches Alex from the corner of her eye. His head whips away quickly, like he was looking at her.

 

The image of his face pressed to hers fills her head and she swears she feels his stubble.

 

Jules doesn’t realize she’s staring at the arm of the sofa where Will sits, doing everything in her power to avoid looking at Alex, until her brother speaks up.

 

“What’s with you two?” Will asks. 

 

“What?” Jules chirps, her voice high. She tries to cover it with a laugh, but it comes out sounding like a broken record as she tries to wave nonchalantly at Alex. “With us? Nothing’s  _ ‘with us.’ _ Why would there be anything with us? We barely know each other.”

 

“Sure…” Will says, looking at her like she’s nuts. “But you could’ve at least said ‘hi’.”

 

Okay.  _ Maybe _ . That’s a fair observation, she supposes. Jules pinches her lips together and nods methodically at Will for a moment before looking at Alex. 

 

“Hi,” she says.

 

The pause before he finally says, “Hi,” in response says so much more than those two letters ever could. His eyes linger for a second too long, long enough to remind her how things had ended that night. Wow, she so preferred remembering the fun parts.

 

A bitter taste fills her mouth and Jules forces herself to look back at Will.

 

“Better?” she asks.

 

“Why are you being so weird?” Will questions.

 

Jules scoffs, crossing her arms. “I’m not being weird. You’re weird… weirdo.” 

 

God, she sounds like she’s twelve all over again. 

 

“ _ Okay _ .” Will narrows his eyes, trying to suss her out, but he obviously doesn’t figure it out because he stands a second later. “Whatever you say, Jules. I’m gonna go change and hang up my gear. Maybe you two can manage a second word while I’m gone.”

 

“Funny,” Alex tells him dryly.

 

“Great job,” Will says, patting Alex on the shoulder as he walks back. “That’s two words now. Maybe you can work on a whole sentence next.”

 

If only he knew why they were down to one-worded conversations.

 

Her brother’s footfalls fade down the hall, leaving the room in a silence ready to burst with words unsaid. Neither of them rush to fill it, though. Whether they’re each waiting for the other to talk or ensuring that Will’s out of earshot is anyone’s guess - probably both - but the quiet stretches out between them either way.

 

It’s finally too much.

 

“You didn’t call,” she says, paying too much attention to an abandoned root beer can left on the table. When he is silent a second too long, she looks at him. 

 

“You didn’t either,” he points out. His coffee’s forgotten, a bag of grounds left open next to a half-prepped percolator. 

 

“Did you want me to?” 

 

“Yes,” he answers. There’s a raw honesty to his voice that stuns her, an earnestness she hadn’t expected. “Why are you surprised by that? You know what I want. I made that pretty clear.”

 

“Yeah. To  _ date _ me.” Jules huffs, brushing off the idea as ridiculous. “Alex, I’m a mess. You don’t want me.”

 

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” he asks, pushing off the counter, slowly closing the distance between them.

 

“Maybe because  _ I _ don’t want to date  _ you _ ,” Jules retorts.

 

The words sound like a lie even to her own ears.

 

Probably because they are. 

 

Her heart hammers in her throat and her head spins as she realizes that. Some part of her wants to feel close to someone again, to have her life intertwined with theirs. She misses the closeness as much as she misses sex, so much that she can  _ taste _ it. 

 

But craving that feels more like a betrayal to Jackson than she’s willing to consider. Guilt swells up, cresting and breaking, pulling her down in its undertow. 

 

“Yeah,” Alex drawls, coming up to her until they’re toe-to-toe. “You haven’t thought about us together at all, have you?”

 

His closeness clouds her brain, and the heavy look he’s giving her doesn’t help. Neither does the barely-there hint of his cologne that washes over her. 

 

The moment pulls taut, the air crackling with tension and electricity. As much as part of her loves this, craves it, another part screams to be released from it. This is dangerously close to being about more than sex and she can’t risk that. But his eyes pin her in place and she can’t resist the way her body curves toward him. 

 

_ Traitor.  _

 

“I might’ve thought it was all a dream if my sofa didn’t smell like you the next morning,” he tells her in a low gritty voice that shoots straight through her body to the soles of her feet. “Fucking drove me nuts, woman. You know that? Thinkin’ about you like that. Every time I sit on my damned sofa all I can think about is how loud you get, the way you hold on to me and give yourself over entirely.” 

 

“If that’s  _ hard  _ for you,” Jules says, trying to steer the conversation back to waters she can control. “I did offer a solution.”

 

“No,” he replies. “I don’t want to fuck you, Julianna. That kind of relationship ain’t enough for me. I want a whole lot more than that.”

 

She scowls. “You are the most infuriating man I’ve ever met.”

 

“Just a guy who knows what he wants,” Alex counters. “You know what that’s like, right?”

 

“Yes,” she says, sliding her fingers down one of his suspenders to grip the elastic just a few inches from his waist. He gives a pained grunt and a warning look in response, but she doesn’t relent. “I do.”

 

“Why’d you really come here tonight, Julianna?” he challenges. “To see your brother? Or to see me?” 

 

“To see him,” she answers. But even as she says it, she finds herself wondering if that’s entirely true. Somewhere in the back of her head she’d known Alex would be here, too. Talking to Will could’ve waited. 

 

She doesn’t even realize she’s biting her lip until his thumb drifts over it, tugging it free from her teeth. He soothes the abused skin and it’s suddenly a little harder to breathe as she clings to his suspenders, her eyes drifting shut..

 

“You’re not a very good liar, Julianna,” he whispers.

 

“Yeah,” she agrees, slowly opening her eyes. His pupils are blown wide, his own soft pants flitting over her skin. “I guess not.”

 

She’s not sure who closes the distance first. Maybe they both do. All Jules knows is that she’s powerless against the draw she feels to this man as she pushes up onto her toes, tugging on his suspenders just as he leans down to meet her lips.

 

A shock of thrill hits her, somehow both setting her alight and soothing her. 

 

Jules sighs into his mouth, wrapping her lips around his bottom one as she clings to him, to this feeling that she’s been craving, been missing for who knows how long. Alex’s hands slide over her hips, gripping her so tight she gasps before he loosens his hold. It’s like he can’t  _ not  _ touch her… but he’s afraid she’ll bolt. Afraid if he holds on too tightly, she’ll want to leave. 

 

She doesn’t want to. If anything, his gentle hold on her hips makes her want more. 

 

Jules wraps her arms around his neck, crushing her chest to his, angling her head to deepen the kiss. She sighs her pleasure when he complies, when the kiss steadily grows more intense, paving way for more, so much more. It’s the most at peace she’s felt in ages, the most grounded, and she loses herself entirely in the heat of his body and the press of his lips. 

 

For a moment, they’re the only people in the entire world, everything narrowing down to just the two of them… 

 

“Holy shit!” 

 

Jules jumps back like she’s been burned. She wrenches away from Alex, covering her mouth with her hand, scrambling for something to say, but the damage is already done. 

 

Javi stands in the doorway with damp hair and a slackened jaw, staring at her and Alex. 

 

Discomfort swamps Jules, leaving her uneasy and skittish. When Alex reaches out to touch her, it’s pure reflex when she shies away, closing in on herself. If that bothers him, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he steps between her and Javi, blocking her from the other man’s view. He’s trying to be nice, playing guardian, trying to protect her, and while it’s a sweet thought, it’s the last damn thing she needs.

 

No one fights her battles for her.

 

Jules steps around him, putting a couple feet between them.

 

“Does Will know about this?” Javi asks. 

 

“No,” Alex says. “And you’re sure as hell not gonna tell him.”

 

“Yeah, ‘cause I’d rather he not take it out on me!” Javi laughs before looking at Jules. “Damn, girl. I thought you were playing?” 

 

Jules shrugs. “Maybe I am.”

 

“Bullshit,” Alex says, his hard voice bouncing off the walls.

 

Her eyes snap to him. Maybe she should feel cornered, but instead she just feels  _ connected _ . He’s challenging her. He’s not pushing, not demanding. He’s throwing down a gauntlet and the shadow that colors his face tells her he fully intends for her to ignore it, to ignore whatever it is that’s between them. It’s that that she responds to, she’ll realize later.

 

Jules’ eyes never leave his as she adds, “Maybe we’re trying to figure things out.”

 

A soft look of pleasant surprise takes over his handsome face. It’s striking how much she wants to be the one to make him have that gentle, easy smile again, how much she wants him to be focused on  _ her _ . 

 

And terrifying. 

 

It’s  _ terrifying _ , too. 

 

She breaks their connection and looks back at Javi. “It’s not like I’m looking for anything serious.” 

 

She can feel Alex’s eyes on her, but doesn’t turn. Instead she keeps her eyes fixed on Javi as he looks to Alex. 

 

“Sure,” Javi says. “Lemme know how that works out for you.”

 

The implication is clear and it leaves Jules bristling. “Yeah, so I have to go,” she announces. 

 

“Julianna,” Alex says, reaching out and grabbing her wrist. She looks down at his hand, her heart skipping a beat at how right it looks there, before meeting his eye. 

 

“I shouldn’t be here,” she tells him. She means that in so many ways. From the look on his face, she thinks maybe he understands all of them. 

 

“Not if you don’t want your brother to find out about this, anyhow,” Javi chimes in. His voice is jarring. Anyone’s presence would be right now, with the way Alex is looking at her, rife with understanding. 

 

“Do what you need to do, Julianna,” Alex says quietly. “I’ll tell Will you had to go.”

 

She nods and a sad acceptance fills his eyes. She’s not ready for this and he knows it. He hates it, but he knows it. Or maybe he understands it better. Either way, now it seems like he’s willing to play along by her rules, even if it’s not what he wants to do.

 

A wash of affection and gratefulness rushes through her and she hesitates only a moment before muttering, “Fuck it,” and grabs his suspenders with both hands, pulling him down for a quick but fierce kiss. It’s a swift, hot, hard press of her lips to his, over in an instant, but it still leaves her flushed and breathless. 

 

And it leaves him  _ stunned _ . 

 

“I’ll see you later,” she says, turning on her heel and making for the door. 

 

“Yes,” Alex replies. Her stride falters only slightly at the sound of his voice. “You will.”


	10. Chapter 10

In the days that follow, Jules can’t stop thinking about that last kiss with Alex. It follows her everywhere, sneaking in when she least expects it. She can’t quite figure out what compelled her to kiss him like that. It’d been driven by pure instinct. She’d just…  _ kissed him _ . Because she wanted to. Needed to. But, more than that, it had been filled with some murky, ill-defined sense of emotion she really doesn’t care to analyze. 

 

So she makes every attempt not to think about it. 

 

It works better than she anticipates, because there’s plenty of other things requiring her attention. Like an art exhibit next month, like finding Jackson’s killer, like trying to smooth things over with Nate. 

 

The first of those agendas is the only one that really seems to go well. The small collection she’s featuring is coming together beautifully. It probably needs one or two more pieces, but her most recent work fits the long-running series surprisingly well. 

 

Starling City isn’t exactly a bustling art scene, but it’s been growing in recent years and there are a smattering of noteworthy creators around town. More photographers and digital art than anything else, but there are a solid half dozen exceptional painters, too. And, every now and then the Starling City Art Museum likes to feature local works. It’s good for business, which she found out last year when she participated for the first time. 

 

But that’s  _ next _ month and she’s already ahead of schedule with it. Which leaves her with the search for Jackson’s killer and fixing things with Nate as her top priorities. They’re two very linked ideas, problems she can’t seem to solve. 

 

Clues have dried up with figuring out who ordered the hits three years ago. No one working in the area at the time seems to remember anything useful, even after being pressed by her from behind the safety of her mask. But the simple fact that she’d cornered them and asked those questions had led to another blow-up with Nate. Truth be told, her dad hadn’t been happy either. It’s not like she’d cleared it with the team. But where’s the danger in a masked chat with a gas station attendant or barista? 

 

They’re overreacting. 

 

Nate hadn’t liked being told that, though. It’d only fueled his frustration and led to a much louder confrontation that continued right up until their mom had stepped between them and ordered them to cool down. He hasn’t talked to her since and Jules doesn’t know how to fix it, not when what he wants is for her to let this go, to give up on finding out who killed Jackson. 

 

That’s just simply not an option. 

 

All of it leaves her in a weird headspace, seeking distractions and only finding brick walls, leaving her frustrated at the littlest of things and desperately needing to make her mind go blank. 

 

So, she paints… and paints and paints and paints. It’s probably the most productive she’s been in two years, but every single canvas she works on looks like something she poured her frustration all over. It’s not a bad thing. It’s almost compelling, if repetitive as hell, but worse than that, splashing her aggravation across canvas after canvas does  _ nothing  _ to alleviate the way she feels. At least, not in a lasting way. Any sense of relief she gets is as temporary as the brush’s presence against the canvas. 

 

“You’re gonna run out of paint if you keep it up. Need me to order more?” 

 

Jules turns from her easel to find Martin, her sole employee, standing in the doorway giving her a judgemental look that almost seems parental. This is not something she needs right now. 

 

“I already ordered some,” Jules tells him. “How’s business out there?”

 

“Two semi-serious browsers who were gonna come back with their spouses,” Martin replies. “And I sold a couple of prints to some college kids who got sick of Klimt and Monet in their dorms.”

 

“Well, prints won’t keep the lights on,” Jules says, “but I’m glad to see SCU students exploring more art than cheap posters in the student bookstore.”

 

“ _ Please _ ,” Martin scoffs, quirking a dark eyebrow at her as he folds his massive tattooed arms. “Like you’ve ever cared about money?”

 

“I… sort of care,” Jules protests.

 

“Liar.” Martin shakes his head. “You’d give those kids prints if it wouldn’t kill your business with the upper-crust willing to pay through the nose for your originals.”

 

That’s true. In the two years that Martin’s worked for her, the 50-something art-aficionado has gotten to know her quite well. She counts herself lucky that they met and she had the good sense to hire him. 

 

“FYI, you had a message from the art department at SCU today,” Martin tells her. “They wanted to know if you’ll be at the exhibit premiere next month. They want to assign some students to go and listen to you talk.”

 

“Yeah,” Jules confirms. “It’s more fun than the hoity toity shit.”

 

“That ‘hoity toity shit’ is what keeps the lights on. You do know that, right?” 

 

“My trust fund keeps the lights on,” Jules retorts. “The ‘hoity toity shit’ keeps you paid.”

 

“Well, then thank you for doing it,” Martin tells her. He pauses for a moment and eyes her before saying, “Not to sound like your mom, but-”

 

“Oh lord.”

 

“When’s the last time you ate?”

 

“Like an hour ago,” Jules says, feeling more than a little superior that it’s actually the truth. 

 

“Something other than a protein bar,” Martin clarifies. 

 

“... Recently,” Jules amends.

 

“Today?” Martin asks. 

 

“Yes,  _ today _ .” Jules rolls her eyes. “There was… breakfast. And not just coffee, either!”

 

“If you say so.” Martin sighs, clearly not believing her. “Well, in any case, it makes me very glad that your friend is here with some takeout to share dinner with you.”

 

Jules freezes. “Friend?” 

 

“Mhm.” Martin nods. “A very tall, very muscular, very attractive friend with a bit of an accent.” 

 

Alex. He has to mean Alex. She can’t imagine who else it would be and it leaves her heart fluttering to life in a way that makes her fingers shake as she tucks her hair behind her ear, licking her lips self-consciously. She tugs at her necklace, swallowing around the lump forming in her throat.

 

“He’s here?” she asks. 

 

Martin grins. “Oh, I think I’m gonna enjoy this. I’ll send him back and head out. Make good choices, Jules.” 

 

Jules huffs. “Martin…”

 

He just wags his eyebrows at her in response before he leaves. 

 

She’s not alone for long, but it seems like forever in the moment. Her heart races, getting faster with each passing second, and she forces herself to take steadying breaths, trying to calm down. 

 

Why is she even  _ like _ this? Why is she letting the  _ idea _ of his presence do this to her?

 

“Hey,” Alex greets softly from the doorway, breaking through her thoughts. He looks nervous, hesitant, and he lingers in the threshold.

 

“Hi,” she replies, sticking her hands in her pockets. 

 

“I thought… I dunno,” Alex says with a small self-derisive smile and a shrug. “I thought maybe we could talk. And maybe you might be hungry. I heard you like Thai food, so…”

 

“Yeah,” she agrees, glancing at the bag in his hand. “That sounds good. You can… I mean, you can come in. I do get lost in my work sometimes. That was thoughtful of you.”

 

His relief is obvious and leaves her feeling lighter in turn. His face softens and his eyes light up, the corners of them crinkling just a bit. It makes her giddy, connected in a way that she maybe shouldn’t be. 

 

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I grabbed a few options,” he says, closing the space between them and holding up the bag. “Sara said to go with spicy, though, so it’s kinda hot.”

 

That he bothered to find that out impresses her, but it’s the flush that spreads across her cheeks despite herself that says something else entirely.

 

“You talked to Sara about me?” she asks. She shouldn’t feel so happy about that. She  _ shouldn’t _ . And yet…

 

“Yeah,” he confirms. “I talked to Sara about you. Javi, too. He wasn’t gonna say a word to Will, but boy’s got a big mouth.”

 

“He told Sara about…” Jules cuts herself off as she realizes she’d nearly said ‘ _ about us. _ ’ That’s not right. There is no  _ ‘us’ _ with them. “He told Sara about what happened in the break room?” 

 

“That you kissed me?” Alex asks. He’s not about to mince words, not about to let her hide from this. As if to prove that, he slowly invades her space, his gaze never wavering from hers. “Yeah. Why did you?”

 

“Why did I what?” she asks, even though she knows. She damn well knows. 

 

He narrows his eyes, seeing right through her. His voice lowers, even as he plays along. “Why did you kiss me?”

 

Jules blinks, licking her lips and brushing more hair off her forehead before glancing down at the bag in his hand. “I don’t know,” she deflects. “It was…”

 

“Julianna,” he whispers, his finger finding her chin. He tilts her head up and she follows his lead, finding his eyes again. The earnestness staring back at her has the words spilling out before she can stop them.

 

“Because I wanted to,” Jules admits. An uncomfortable vulnerability settles over her at the words. “Because right then… it felt like I had to.”

 

“Yeah,” Alex agrees, his voice full of longing. His finger strokes the underside of her chin as his eyes dart over her face, taking her in.

 

“What is this?” she asks, sounding very small and uncertain even to her own ears. 

 

“It’s us,” he answers. “I dunno what that means yet any more than you do. But I do know I wanna find out.”

 

The excitement that shoots through her makes her head spin, mostly because she wants to find out, too. And she’s wanted him to want to find out, she realizes, even though he’s told her where he stands. It means it’s not just her, even though she already knew that. Still, hearing it…  _ seeing it _ … 

 

But just as quickly as the excitement appeared, fear is right on its heels. Her breath catches at the intensity of it and she stiffens. She’s not ready for this, not ready for  _ him _ . She’s not sure she ever will be. Some part of her wants to be, she can admit that much, but there’s a hole in her heart that Jackson left behind, one that won’t ever be filled. Even considering moving on, creating something new with a man?

 

It leaves her sick to her stomach. 

 

Alex sees it. He knows. 

 

“But whatever we are or aren’t has gotta be defined by both of us,” he tells her, letting his hand fall away from her face. “You don’t wanna be my girl. I know that.”

 

“It’s not you,” she says, desperate to be understood on that point before cringing at how cliche that sounds. “It’s not about you, I mean. If I were in a place where I could think about something deeper with anyone…”

 

“Yeah.” Alex smiles, shaking his head. “I know that, too. ‘Cause all I’ve done is ask you to dinner and you’re thinking about it as something deeper.”

 

“Well, you don’t exactly give the impression that you want to keep things casual,” she points out. 

 

“I don’t,” he confirms. “But I ain’t exactly picking out his and hers towels yet, either.”

 

“It’s the ‘yet’ that makes the biggest statement,” Jules says. “You know that, right?”

 

The little shrug of admission he gives is almost bashful. Why the hell is that endearing? She reaches for his free hand, brushing her fingers against his. The compulsion to touch him, to make his face light up - which happens so easily at the barest hint from her - drives her to take risks she might not otherwise, to push ever-so-slightly outside her comfort zone. It’s still safe, still within her control. And it’s  _ worth it _ .

 

“So… maybe we take our time to figure this out then,” Jules suggests. Even as she says it, she knows this is going down a path she just told him she wants to avoid. But, she’s not there yet. They aren’t there, and his surprised smile makes her bold, makes the panic in her gut feel more like butterflies. “Maybe we… hang out more. Fool around some, if the mood strikes…” 

 

“Wanna tell me how that’s not dating?” Alex asks her, clearly amused. 

 

“No promises and no expectations,” she clarifies. “Whatever happens… happens. I can’t promise you my heart, Alex. I don’t know if there’s anything left to give. But there’s something about you that makes me want to know you. I can admit that much, and I don’t want to fight it.”

 

“I can’t let myself be with a woman who isn’t gonna share her heart with me,” Alex answers. “But I got you under my skin and I ain’t sure I could ever turn you away. I’m willing to wait and see where this goes, cause somethin’ tells me it’s worth it. You’re worth it.” 

 

“So, we’re friends then,” Jules says, a coy smile pulling at her lips. “With… a few bonuses tossed in.”

 

“Important bonuses,” he notes. “Just being friends with you was never gonna work. I want you too badly for that.” 

 

She laughs. “Because you heard a few stories about me and I danced with you?” 

 

“No,” he replies. “‘Cause I see you.”

 

That hits her harder than she’s willing to even think about. “There’s a lot more to me than meets the eye,” she confides. 

 

“I have no doubt,” he agrees. “But even your rougher edges are beautiful, Julianna. We all got our scars. They make us who we are. And I  _ like _ who you are.”

 

That proclamation makes her heart flip-flop in her chest and her cheeks flush in appreciation. How does he always seem to know exactly the right thing to say to get through to her? To make her want just a little bit more from him?

 

“Dinner can wait,” Jules announces, snaking a hand up around the back of his neck. “Kiss me.”

 

The bag in his hand drops to the floor with a soft thud. One of the containers must have popped open because the distinctive smell of pad thai wafts through the air, but neither one of them pays attention to that because his hand is cupping the back of her head and her arms are around his neck. They’re wrapped up entirely in each other, connected on a level that defies understanding, and the intense, searching look he fixes her with lasts only a second before his mouth is on hers. 

 

Heat floods her entire being. It’s not just her mouth that he’s claiming with the press of his lips to hers, it’s every part of her. Given her stance on the limitations she’s placed on her heart, that should have her running. But instead it fuels her and she claims him right back. 

 

There’s a synergy in this, between the two of them. It’s as though they make a closed circuit, leaving her charged and her body buzzing with unspent energy. Her fingernails scrape at the base of his skull and he shudders, growling as one of his hands palms her ass, tugging her tightly against him. She’s hyper-aware of everywhere their bodies touch. The feeling drowns her and makes her feel alive all at once. When the hand on her ass flexes and squeezes, she breaks the kiss with a whimper and an inviting tilt of her hips. He groans like his control is barely there and squeezes again. 

 

“Why the hell don’t you have a sofa or anything back here?” he mutters.

 

“Floor,” she replies. “Floor’s fine. Floor’s  _ good _ .”

 

Jules tugs on him as she speaks and somehow they both ease down to the ground without colliding awkwardly. It’s cushioned, at least - a necessity with how many hours she stands in front of the easel - but even if it weren’t, she doesn’t think she’d mind. Not with Alex’s frame looming over her, dwarfing her, boxing her in as he kisses the edge of her jaw. 

 

Arching her neck to the side seems like the best idea she’s ever had because he sees the invitation for exactly what it is and slowly works his lips down the column of her throat. He’s alternately soft and gentle or sucking and nipping at her skin. It feels like there’s a live wire inside her and she gives her full-throated approval as her legs part beneath him and her hands claw at the back of his shirt. 

 

“Take this off,” she moans. “Please. This stupid thing is in the way.”

 

Alex chuckles into the crook of her neck. He rests his weight on one forearm as he lifts the other and lets her help him out of his shirt. Her hands are on his chest in a second as soon as the fabric is out of the way. Chest hair has never really been her thing, but on Alex it works and she finds herself running her fingers over his pecs and down his abs in delighted fascination. 

 

“Julianna,” he moans as her fingers trace the grooves of his six-pack. 

 

_ Lord _ , he’s ripped, a solid wall of muscle. That makes the fact that she can make him quiver beneath the softest, teasing touch all the more heady. There’s something about that that leaves her feeling light-headed and drunk with power. 

 

“Alex…” she purrs back, running her tongue along the edge of her teeth and staring up at him from under heavy lids.

 

“You’re such trouble, chica,” he tells her, letting his face hover just inches away from hers. 

 

A happy grin covers her face. “I am,” she agrees, wrapping a leg around the back of one of his. “And that’s the way you like it.”

 

“Hell yes, I do,” he grunts out. “Wouldn’t want you any other way.”

 

He means it. Some people - some men - might be intimidated by her, might find her to be too abrasive or too much work. But, even for how little she really  _ knows _ Alex, she has the distinct feeling that a less challenging woman would bore him, that he’d have little interest in someone who didn’t keep him on his toes. The realization sends a thrill right through her.

 

“I want your shirt off,” he tells her, dipping down to kiss her. His lips tease hers, all heat but barely brushing skin-to-skin. He intends to make her chase him and it works. She presses up on her elbows to seal her mouth to his, a move he readily welcomes.

 

His hand winds up bracing her back, spanning wide enough that he nearly covers the width of it, and he tugs her toward him as she pushes off the floor, sitting up. She winds up in his lap with her legs around his waist. He’s much taller than her, but they’re nearly nose-to-nose like this. 

 

She  _ loves  _ it.

 

“Hi,” she greets again with a toothy grin, reaching for the hem of her shirt and pulling it up. The fabric isn’t even over the top of her head yet when he hisses and lets off a long string of rapid-fire Spanish that’s probably entirely curse words. 

 

“Damn, woman,” he grunts as she tosses her shirt to the side. His fingers slide from her collarbone down the center of her chest. He’s mesmerized enough by the path of his own hand that he doesn’t seem to realize she’s working at the clasp of her bra until she’s slipping it off.

 

One of his hands cups her breast, his thumb rubbing circles over her nipple, building up a delicious tension that concentrates beneath his touch. His other hand is back on her ass, massaging it almost compulsively as his lips find hers again. The kiss itself is sloppy, hot and wet. And  _ hungry _ . A fierceness builds between them, in the clack of teeth and the desperate suck of his tongue as her nails scrape up the length of his spine. 

 

The feel of his skin against hers, the press of his chest to hers, is dizzyingly perfect. Every single bit of her body that touches his feels alive in a way she can scarcely remember feeling. 

 

She’s needed this.  _ Touch _ . Closeness. She’s needed it so much that her hands shake and her body rocks against his as her head spins and her breathing increases. 

 

“You’re beautiful, Julianna,” he tells her, running both of his hands up her neck to bury in her hair. She sighs and leans back into his palms, eyes shut as she soaks everything in. “Everything about you. So damned fierce and beautiful.” 

 

He’s laying her back against the floor again. His hold is so strong, so secure, so that she lets him take control entirely for a second, trusts him to lie her down safely. And, for a long moment, it almost feels like she’s suspended in air. 

 

Letting go like that, even if only for a second, is freeing. As memorable as this entire evening will always be to her, it’s that first inkling of trust between them that will really live on when she looks back later. 

 

The passion, though… the  _ want _ , that’s a constant. His demanding lips caress the curve of her jaw, seeking out all the points that draw a reaction from her. There are plenty to find, especially for someone as passionate and thorough as him. She stretches her arms up above her head and knocks into her easel. Paint splatters to the ground, but she doesn’t pay it any heed in the moment because stretching out like that elongates her torso and issues an invitation that Alex doesn’t miss. He takes the opportunity to kiss a path down her body. 

 

There’s nothing rushed about his movements, but they’re certainly eager, like he needs to explore every inch of her. She doesn’t complain, especially when he kisses down the slope of her breast to drag his lips around the edge of her areola before drawing her tightened nipple into his mouth. 

 

She lets loose a sharp cry, arching her back and tightening her leg around the back of his thigh. Rocking against him in a slowly building rhythm isn’t even conscious. It’s instinct. Compulsive. And it makes him grip her nipple gently between his teeth as he hisses against her skin. 

 

“Dios mio, woman,” he grits out, releasing her breast to lean his forehead against the center of her chest. She rakes her fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp, and he lets out a low moan and a shudder. 

 

She grins contentedly, tugging a bit on his hair. 

 

He actually shakes with the effort to restrain himself. She can see the muscles of his arms twitch and he breathes hotly against her chest for a moment before lifting his head to look up at her with fully-blown pupils.

 

The hair thing  _ really _ gets to him, it seems. 

 

“I wanna taste you,” he whispers. 

 

For a second, she’s sure she heard him wrong. And her response is a stuttering, “What?”

 

“Unless you don’t want me to,” he adds, dropping a kiss right between her breasts as he keeps his eyes fixed on her. 

 

“No,” she says, still feeling a bit thrown. “That’s not… You really want to?”

 

“Do I really want to make you come with my tongue?” he asks. “Fuck yes, I do.”

 

“Oh,” she breathes out. 

 

Everything grinds to a halt at that as a moment of indecision swamps her. Does she want that? Yes, she very much does. It sounds perfect, actually. But there’s only been one man she’s done that with and he died in her arms three years ago. Somehow, being with someone like  _ that _ feels more intimate than sex, more meaningful. And doing that with someone again feels like it diminishes Jackson’s importance. 

 

“But you don’t, so that’s fine,” Alex says, and his voice is so  _ accepting _ and nice that it almost hurts. “Plenty of other options.”

 

“No,” Jules protests, grabbing his arm. “I do want to.”

 

“You hesitated, chica,” he tells her. “I can read your face. You ain’t ready for that with us yet. And that’s okay. What’s not okay is you sayin’ otherwise. If we’re doing this, I’m gonna need you to be honest with me.”

 

“That’s not…” She scrambles, frustration swamping her as she backpedals. “It’s just been a while. That’s all.” 

 

A look of understanding dawns on his face that doesn’t quite make sense. “A while, huh?” he asks softly. 

 

“Yeah…” she says slowly, not loving the look on his face. She likes it even less when he sits up and watches her with a gaze that seems far too close to pity for her liking. It leaves her feeling exposed. Jules pulls away from him a little and reaches for her shirt, shrugging it on. “Is that a problem for some reason?”

 

“Depends on if you’re gonna tell me why, I guess,” he replies. 

 

She feels cornered, and it only gets worse the longer he just looks at her, leaving her feeling like a wild animal ready to lash out. It’s rare she talks about losing Jackson and it’s something she’s only done with her family, her therapist and her rabbi. But Alex is patient. He gives her time and doesn’t push, even as he doesn’t back down. He’s far more comfortable with silence than her and it’s the quiet as much as his unwavering gaze that compels her to answer.

 

“I was with someone,” she blurts, scooting back. She folds her arms around herself. “For a long while. But he died three years ago.”

 

The words stick like broken glass in her throat, but she gets them out anyhow. She hates the vulnerability, hates how strange it feels… but another part actually feels better. It’s almost like a burden’s been lifted off her shoulders, and she’s not entirely sure how to cope with all of this put together.

 

“Yeah,” Alex says quietly, leaning back against his hands. “I know.”

 

Jules blinks at him in shock. “You  _ know _ ?” She hadn’t really had the time to develop any kind of expectation for what his reaction might be, but this wouldn’t have been it. A sudden surge of annoyance bursts inside her and she asks, “Did my brother tell you? Because I-”

 

“No. No, Julianna,” Alex cuts her off, shaking his head in sympathy and shifting so he can tentatively reach his hand out for hers. “I was there.”

 

The floor drops out from under her. 

 

“ _ What _ ?” she breathes out. 

 

“Chica, I’ve been on your brother’s team since he was fresh outta training,” Alex tells her. “If he’s on a call, so am I. You gotta know that.”

 

His words rattle around her head, not quite making sense. Rationally, she knows Alex has been Will’s team lead for a long time, though she hadn’t realized it was from the start. But her memories of that night are so honed in on Jackson, so focused on the spark fading from his eyes and his life slipping through her her fingers that she tends to forget anyone else was there. Except, of course, her father and brother pulling her away. 

 

“I’ve seen a lot of people in the worst moments of their lives,” Alex notes. Warily, she looks back at him. A mixture of empathy and respect shines in his eyes, and it’s not at all what she expected. It’s not pity, exactly. Not as she’d thought it was earlier. It’s deeper and more complicated than that. “It’s rare I’ve seen someone as broken as you were that night. That kinda trauma changes people. Lots of them break under it. Not you, though. You fought through it. You got more strength than most people dream of, Julianna.”

 

“You… you were there?” she asks again. She needs to hear him confirm it. 

 

“I’m the one who loaned your dad clothes so the cops didn’t show up and find The Arrow trying to comfort you,” he tells her. 

 

Jules’ eyes go wide at that and a sudden defensiveness toward her father crops up, but Alex sees it before it even finishes surfacing. He holds onto her hand when she starts to try to pull back.

 

“Javi, Sara and I all know,” he says. “We’ve kept our mouths shut for three years. That ain’t gonna change.”

 

“If you ever tell  _ anyone _ ...” she starts.

 

“He took a risk that night,” Alex points out, soothing the backs of her knuckles with his thumb. “And he did it because he’s a father who put his daughter first. I respect that. But even if it weren’t for that, I’d never tell his secret. Years ago, he risked his life to try and save my father and 502 other people. That earns my loyalty.” 

 

Her heart sinks. “The Undertaking?” 

 

“Yeah,” Alex says. “I was eight and I wanted a new bike real bad. My papa was working extra shifts at the repair shop to get it for me as a surprise. Then the Glades Earthquake hit and we heard nothin’ for a day and a half… ‘til two uniforms showed up at the door and made my mama cry. Can’t say I cared a whole lot about the bike after that.” 

 

“My grandmother killed your dad,” Jules realizes aloud, suddenly seeing him in a whole new light.

 

“She did,” Alex agrees. “But your dad saved my life  _ and _ my mama’s. If that earthquake had been as big as it’d been planned to be… I wouldn’t be here now. I know that much for sure.”

 

“Still…” Jules shakes her head. “If it weren’t for my family, your dad would still be alive and you wouldn’t have needed saving in the first place. How is it that you don’t hate  _ all _ of us on principle?”

 

“Hate don’t heal,” he tells her. “Took me a while to figure that out. And I can’t say I was all that thrilled to have a Queen on my team at the start. But holding my papa’s death against you or your brother or your dad isn’t right and he’d have been the first to tell me that. A person’s responsible for their own actions. Guilt ain’t inherited.”

 

She wonders what her father would have to say about that. Based on stories told by Digg and Lyla and her mom, in years past he surely wouldn’t have agreed. At least not as the theory applied to him. But now… now he is not the man he was in those early days of his crusade. Time and age has lent him a new perspective.

 

The harder question, though, is how she applies that to herself. 

 

Guilt, in her experience, isn’t uniquely owned by those who knowingly did the wrong thing. She holds plenty of it. It goes hand-in-hand with regret. And, while hate might not heal, she can’t even imagine not hating the person who stained their hands with Jackson’s blood. 

 

“I don’t…” She looks down at where he still holds her hand. “I don’t know what to do with this.”

 

“That’s okay,” he assures her. “You don’t have to. Not right now, anyhow.”

 

A stressed little laugh slips from her lips. “So what do I do right now, then?” 

 

“That one’s easy.” Alex smiles. “Right now, you eat dinner. Here. With me. And we talk about anything else. Unless you wanna tell me more about the boy you lost. I’m never gonna tell you not to, if that’s what you need.”

 

She absorbs that silently, appraising him anew. When she’d first spotted him, this handsome man with sweat on his brow and a bat in his hands readying himself at home plate, she couldn’t have expected  _ this _ . She’d seen immediately how attractive he was, reveled in the chemistry that crackled between them, but she couldn’t have known how gentle and kind and open he would be. And how  _ stubborn _ . And it’s these things about him, she thinks, that risk pulling her deeper than a casual, no-strings fling. 

 

And yet she doesn’t pull away.

 

“Dinner,” Jules repeats with a barely-there nod. “You, um… you wanna pass me that pad thai? It smells amazing.”

 

“Sure,” Alex says with a quirk of his lips and a pleased crinkle to the corner of his eyes. “I got curry, too. And spring rolls.”

 

She takes the open container of pad thai from his hands. She crosses her legs with an added, “I could eat a spring roll.”

 

“You got it,” he says, poking through the rest of what’s in the bag. 

 

He sort of went overboard. There’s definitely at least two other meals in there. The mental image of him mulling over the menu, buying too many things because he didn’t know what she’d like, fills her head and it’s painfully endearing.

 

“Jackson,” she says. Alex freezes from where he’s poking through the bag and looks up at her. “His name was Jackson.”

 

He hadn’t expected her to take him up on his offer at all and he looks a little awed that she’s given him a glimpse at all of her life before. 

 

But that’s the only glimpse she’s giving him today. 

 

“Pass me a fork?” she asks. 

 

“You’ve got it,” he agrees. 

 

The silence that follows as they eat is companionable, but it’s nothing compared to when they start swapping stories. He gets her laughing about something Will did a few years back. She makes him groan as he realizes how very little she knows about sports. He steals some of her pad thai and feeds her a bite of his curry. 

 

While it doesn’t occur to her at the time, when she thinks back later, this is their first date. 

 

And, all things considered, it’s a pretty great one. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! For some extra FiCoN fun... you might want to check out the quiz that Sameera/Bookwormandpoet made to see which character you are! https://www.playbuzz.com/item/f58e29c6-98c0-4679-9226-0ef88a6b4fd6?utm_source=copy&utm_medium=ff&utm_campaign=ff&pb_traffic_source=copy Enjoy and happy reading!

_ “I love seeing you smile, Julie.” _

 

She’s dreaming. Even in the moment, she knows that and the sadness that comes along with that realization carves through her. She still manages to look at him, though, to smile, even as the longing that fills hers feels like it’s suffocating. 

 

Jackson sits on the edge of their bed at the old apartment, like he’d done a hundred times in their life together. She’d picked out the bedspread. He’d hated it, she thinks, but he’d never said anything because she’d liked it so much. He always did that, went with whatever choice made her the happiest.

 

She’d give anything to have one more moment like this. Just them. Nothing special. Nothing dramatic. Just sitting on the bed, smiling and talking, like they have all the time in the world. 

 

She’d really thought they did. 

 

“I always smiled when I was with you,” she tells him. 

 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “But they’ve been kind of few and far between since I left.”

 

So, he knows this time. Sometimes in her dreams, he doesn’t. Sometimes she doesn’t either. It’s hard to say which way hurts the most. It’s a toss-up, in her opinion, between dreams reliving his death and the ones where it never happens, images of the future they’ll never have. 

 

If things had gone differently, she would’ve grown old with him. 

 

“You didn’t leave, Jackson,” she says. “You died. You died right in front of me, suddenly and painfully. And you shouldn’t have. That’s a helluva thing to live with.”

 

“I know,” he replies, taking her hand in his and kissing the inside of her wrist. She feels it. She  _ feels _ it and a tiny gasp slips from her lips at the sensation, tears blurring her vision. “But you are living. I would’ve wanted that for you.”

 

“Well, it sucks,” Jules bites out.

 

The blinding grin he gives her is so very  _ Jackson _ , so real that it makes her chest feel like it’s caving in. She misses him so much she’s not sure how she can stand it.

 

“Is it selfish of me if I say that I’m glad it’s not easy?” he wonders. “I don’t want you to suffer and I don’t want you to blame yourself, but I am glad that I mean so much to you still, even after all these years.”

 

“Always,” she murmurs. She wants more,  _ aches  _ for it. She wants to touch him, wants to be touched, but she’s afraid it’ll burst the bubble.  “I don’t see how that could ever go away. I’m always going to love you.”

 

“I’m a lucky guy,” Jackson tells her. It feels ironic, coming from his lips. Knowing him, he’d have meant it. “But that doesn’t mean that I should be the only one you ever love. You do know that, right?”

 

“No,” she says, her voice ringing loud. “Moving on isn’t an option.” 

 

“Sure it is,” he counters. “You just don’t want it to be.”

 

Jules wakes with his words ringing in her ears. 

 

They echo in her mind all day, through a meeting with a client, and all while she wrestles with a new painting. It winds up with turpentine tossed all over it because she keeps getting distracted by the paint stain on the floor left by her near-tryst with Alex. 

 

_ Alex _ .

 

She’s staunchly chosen not to think about him. Not today. The dream with Jackson is already too much to handle. 

 

By the time she’s setting the alarm on her gallery and headed toward Arrow headquarters, her focus has re-honed down to a single point: 

 

She needs to find Jackson’s killer. 

 

Nothing is going to be settled until she does. She won’t have closure until that person is caught and they face justice. It’s an easy distraction and she welcomes it today. She welcomes it  _ most  _ days. 

 

“We have anything new?” she asks as she strides into the lair. Her brisk footsteps match her cool, demanding tone, but she can’t bring herself to care today.

 

“Hello to you, too,” Eric says, holding both hands up as if to say, “ _ What the hell, Jules _ ?”

 

“Hi,” Jules replies, the word coming out sharper than a knife as she walks over to where he, Ellie and her father stand. “Do we have anything new?”

 

“Mom’s running a facial analysis on some of the-” Ellie starts.

 

“So that’s a no then?” Jules interrupts. 

 

“Jules,” her father says, his tone deep with warning. 

 

“I’m done sitting around waiting for information to  _ maybe _ come to us,” she announces. “It’s time we had a chat with Martina Salvati.”

 

None of this is spoken as a question and she heads over to the mannequin that houses one of her outfits without waiting for a response. She’s doing this. And she’s doing it as Tempest. It doesn’t really matter what the others say.

 

“Jules, we need a better plan than charging in and holding her at Arrow-point,” her father says, using his long strides to catch up with her and grabbing her wrist gently. 

 

“Okay,” Jules says, yanking her hand away. She crosses her arms, looking up at him. “Why?”

 

“You’re not thinking clearly,” he replies and it’s so patronizing it makes her want to push back. “You’re a better strategist than this.”

 

“Either she’s a small business owner whose hands are completely clean and she’ll quake in her overpriced designer heels,” Jules tells him, her voice rising. “Or she’s a former mobster whose family lost any semblance of power three years ago. There’s no scenario I can see where she knows we’re coming.”

 

Eric speaks up. “You aren’t thinking about it very hard then, are you?” 

 

Jules’ immediate impulse is to bite his head off. Arsenal or not - pseudo-cousin or not - this is  _ her _ business, not his.

 

“If anyone was watching for us to go digging, they’ll know we are,” her father points out. “ _ You _ went out to their old turf. You asked questions.”

 

“And I’m not perfect,” her mom chimes in from her computer. Jules jumps. She hadn’t even seen her sitting there. “I can minimize my trail online, but there’s no completely foolproof way of erasing it entirely. That’s not how the internet works. If someone is good enough - and if they’re looking - they’ll know somebody was poking around the lives of dead hitmen.”

 

“You’re saying she could see us coming?” Jules asks. 

 

“I doubt it,” Oliver replies, making Jules throw her hands up in exasperation. “But only because I don’t think she had a thing to do with any of this.”

 

“You’re wrong,” Jules insists. “He was the target. She’s going to know why or at least point us to someone who does.”

 

She doesn’t care what her dad or Will have to say about it. It’s the truth, it’s the only thing that makes sense to her. And she’s not willing to consider any alternatives.

 

“Jules…” her mother says. “Honey, I hope you’re right, but I don’t want you to pin your hopes on that, okay? We need information and that’s worth exploring, but that doesn’t mean it’s a sure thing.”

 

“Either way, we only get the information by asking questions,” Jules says. “I’m going to go confront her. Any of you care to come with?”

 

Oliver scrubs his face before sighing. “I’ll go.”

 

“Good,” Jules says, turning back to her suit “Then-”

 

“But you’re staying,” he continues. 

 

“What? No!” Jules rears back like she’s been slapped. “This is  _ personal _ , Dad.”

 

“Exactly,” her father tells her. “You’ve already made up your mind. You’re not looking for facts, you’re looking for anything that fits the narrative of events you have in your head and you’re willing to take stupid risks to make that happen. That’s a really great way to get yourself killed.” 

 

“I am  _ not _ -”

 

“No!” her father snaps. “You’re staying here. That’s an order from your team leader, Tempest. You’re a liability in the field right now and I’m not going to allow that. Do you understand me?”

 

Frustration mounts and she grits her teeth rather than answer him. She would defy her father in a heartbeat, but she cannot - as Tempest - refuse a command from The Arrow. Teamwork is too vital to what they do, too critical for their continued survival, and the hierarchy of the team is an integral part of that.

 

“Our lives are dangerous enough as they are, Julie-bug,” he tells her, lowering his voice so only she can hear. He places a hand on her arm. “We don’t need to add to that, not without a good reason. You know as well as I do how much it hurts later if things go wrong when they shouldn’t have. I don’t want that for any of us. Not again.”

 

That hits home. It doesn’t stop frustration from burning right underneath her chest plate, so hot she might burst, because that’s exactly why she wants to go. She needs to stop this… but the earnest look in her father’s eyes forces her to pause, to step back, to reassess. After a moment she glances back at her mother, at Ellie and Eric. They’re all waiting for her to say something, but it’s her dad’s gentle prod with a raise of his eyebrows that gets a response. 

 

“Fine,” Jules finally says. More  _ grits _ it out. “But I’m on the comms with Mom.”

 

If she isn’t going to be there while Martina’s being questioned, she’s absolutely listening in and prompting questions if needed. 

 

“I think that’s more than agreeable.” Her dad sighs with relief, his shoulders sagging. He’d been prepared for anything, Jules realizes, maybe even having to physically stop her. He turns to Ellie and Eric. “You two coming with me?”

 

“Now?” Ellie asks, glancing at the clock. “I can’t. I’ll go with later if you want, but I have class. I can’t miss Non-Profit Debt Management and  _ ‘I had to put on my mask and interrogate someone’  _ is not an excuse that would fly well with my professor. Even if I  _ could _ tell her.”

 

“It’s fine,” Oliver assures her. “Get to class. Eric?”

 

“Yeah, I’m down,” Eric agrees. “Lemme just call Roy and tell him I might be late meeting him for dinner.”

 

“We’ll put together a plan while you do,” Oliver tells him. “But I really don’t think this will take that long.”

 

“Already on that strategizing thing,” Felicity chimes in, drawing Jules’ attention. “What can you tell me about her, Jules?”

 

“About Martina?” Jules asks, closing on her mom. She grabs a spare desk chair and spins it around to straddle it next to Felicity. “Not a ton. Jackson liked her. I thought she was kind of demanding and rigid, but he said she was great to work for and he was grateful that she gave him a job.” The hurt that climbs up her throat is old, but it still makes her voice uneven as she adds, “That was Jackson, though, always seeing the best in people.”

 

“I know, honey.” Her mom reaches out and grips Jules’ hand for a moment before going back to the keys. “He was a good guy. I meant more about Martina’s routine, though. Any habits? Places that would be easier to corner her?”

 

Jules starts a bit at that. Right. Habits. Despite her adamance, it takes her a second to switch gears into looking at Jackson’s aunt from a vigilante point of view, not as as her dead boyfriend’s family. It’s been years and she’d never spent that much time around Martina in the first place, but she racks her memory to think of anything that might help.

 

Felicity’s fingers fly over the keys, pulling up all sorts of information, including images off multiple street cameras. Like they were already set up. “She seems to slip out the back entrance and head up the street to a cafe for some tea most afternoons,” her mom prods. “But it’s not every day or even the same time of day. I haven’t seen a pattern to it. Do you happen to know?”

 

“Wait,” Jules says, blinking at her mom in surprise. “You’ve been watching her?” 

 

“Of course I have, Jules.” Her mom gives her a gentle smile. “I’ve dug into the whole family and - other than Nick Salvati’s widow, who’s lived in Monument Point for fifteen years now - I haven’t found any living Salvati I can link to the Bertinelli family. But you’re right. This is worth looking into more, so I started keeping tabs on Martina a few weeks ago.”

 

“She… um… she goes for tea when she’s having a bad day,” Jules remembers. “She spikes it back in her office.”

 

“Oh.” Felicity blinks. “She must be having a lot of bad days lately. That can’t be good for her liver.”

 

“Good, this’ll be simple then,” Oliver says, joining them at Felicity’s desk. “How do we make sure she has another bad day today?”

 

“Oh, that’s  _ easy _ ,” Felicity replies. “She runs a marketing and advertising firm that hosts clients’ websites. All we have to do is take a few down and make their system glitch.”

 

“Do it,” Oliver orders. “We’ll watch for her in that back alley shortcut she foolishly likes.”

 

“Honestly, choosing to use back alleys in Starling is just asking for trouble,” Felicity says, fingers flying across the keys, typing in a language Jules can’t begin to understand. 

 

“She won’t go for tea until the problem is fixed and she’s talked to clients,” Jules advises. “Better to bring it down now so Dad and Eric don’t have to wait too long.”

 

“Read my mind.” Her mother gives her a wink. “Hacking this system is easy as pie. Or, well… easier than pie, if you’re me. Pie is hard.”  

 

The laugh that slips out of Jules is a surprise - equally because of her mother’s words and because she’s actually made her  _ laugh _ at a time like this. It’s not like she’s the world’s greatest chef, but Jules definitely has one up on her mother there. And, honestly, how hard is pie if you get a premade crust? Even  _ she  _ can manage that. And her mom can, too, Jules thinks. She’s exaggerating right now, and it’s entirely for Jules’ benefit. 

 

Jules smiles her appreciation. “How about you do your computer magic and I’ll make the pie for Thanksgiving,” she says, scooting over to another computer. She puts in an earpiece and flips it on. “Sound good?”

 

“Deal,” her mother says just before she gives a dramatic press of the enter key. “And cue one Salvati starting to have a very bad day.” 

 

She spins in her chair with a self-satisfied smile, looking about two decades younger. 

 

It’s adorable seeing her mom giddy at her own success, so much so that Jules shakes her head, but it’s much more endearing to her father. The quiet adoration on his face would’ve struck Jules as cheesy when she was younger. Now…

 

Now she misses having something like that focused on herself. 

 

God, she misses Jackson. 

 

“Nice work.” Her father flips his hood up, donning his masked persona. He glances at Eric who materializes at his side, already decked out in Uncle Roy’s old gear. “Ready?”

 

Eric takes the Arsenal mantle literally and seriously, something she never would’ve expected when she first met her somewhat-bratty not-quite-cousin. Losing Thea did a number on him. But being accepted so completely by Roy and, by extension the Queens, had given him something to hold onto, an identity and a family. He’s still kind of a brat, for Jules’ money, but there’s no question that he values his place on the team as well as his father-son-like bond with Roy. Grudgingly, Jules has grown to like him.

 

“I aim to please.” Felicity grins at her husband. “And you aim to-”

 

“However you’re going to finish that, please do not,” Jules interrupts. 

 

“... get answers?” her mother finishes, shooting her a look. 

 

“Hey, in my defense there was a fifty-fifty shot of that going somewhere dirty,” Jules insists. “I do not like those odds and I wasn’t about to risk it.”

 

Eric fist-bumps her in solidarity, cutting off whatever protest her mother had been about to make. It dissolves into a little harumph and a pout, which has her father grinning that sappy little grin he gets whenever he looks at her mother. He whispers something too quiet for Jules or Eric to hear before he leans down to kiss his wife, prompting a dramatic gagging face from Eric and an eye roll from Jules. 

 

Her parents ignore both of them, especially when Eric gives an exaggerated shudder as Felicity’s hand drifts over her husband’s leather-covered hip. It is a little too close to areas that Jules never wants to think about in relation to her parents. 

 

“Twenty-second and Foster?” Oliver asks. 

 

“Just off that,” Felicity confirms. “The alley behind that building.”

 

“I know it,” Oliver confirms, re-adjusting his grip on his bow. “Eric, are you done with the dramatics so we can go?” 

 

“Been ready for ages,” Eric quips with a nonchalant face. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

 

“Sure you don’t,” Oliver replies, clapping the younger man on the shoulder.

 

They head for the door and Jules stands up before she knows what she’s doing with a sharp, “Dad!” Her father turns, giving her a questioning look. She’s not really sure what she wants to say, but the need to say  _ something _ lives in her veins. “Don’t go easy on her,” she finally says, giving her father a hard look.

 

He doesn’t skip a beat. “There’s no danger of that,” he promises. 

 

The next hour is a test of Jules’ patience, one she nearly fails. She’s up and pacing around the lair a dozen times. Every single time she finds herself at her suit, she reaches automatically for her chain-whip and mask. It’s only thanks to her mother that Jules doesn’t chase after her dad and Eric. She knows her father’s point had been a good one, but every part of her longs to be out there, to look Martina in the eye as she demands answers. 

 

It’s all she can think about for sixty-three minutes until her mom’s voice rings out with a quietly authoritative, “We’ve got movement.”

 

Jules rushes back to the computer, making sure her earpiece is still in place. But there isn’t sound, not yet anyway. It’s all visual and sure enough there’s Martina Salvati. The older woman mutters to herself as she steps into back alley, one that thankfully has security cameras fixed on it. 

 

It’s not more than a few seconds before her father and Eric jump down from the low rooftops, blocking her in. Shock and terror play across her face and it would be a lie to say that Jules doesn’t enjoy that just a bit. Whatever the woman’s opening protests were, Jules doesn’t hear them. But she does hear when her father speaks up. 

 

“We aren’t here to hurt you,” he says, his voice low and garbled by his modulator. “We just need answers.”

 

“To what?” Martina asks. She’s in near-hysterics, her hands both in the air. “I don’t know anything about anything!” 

 

“Your nephew,” Oliver explains. “Jackson Salvati.”

 

Martina jerks in surprise. She looks between The Arrow to Arsenal, a little less fear clouding her eyes. Her curiosity is piqued. 

 

“Jackson?” she asks. “What about him?”

 

“We’re looking into his death,” Eric supplies. 

 

“It was three years ago,” Martina notes with a frown and then suddenly some dots connect in her head. “Do you have something? Do you know why he was killed?” 

 

This is not the face of a woman who had anything to do with her nephew’s death. Somewhere deep inside, Jules knows that, but she’s nowhere near ready to give up on the theory that this is all about Jackson, that it’s always been about him. Her mom knows, though. Her mom reaches out and grips her hand in support. 

 

“We’ll ask the questions,” Eric informs Martina. 

 

“He was my  _ nephew _ ,” she bites out. “My brother’s son. A sweet, innocent boy and a wonderful employee. I think I’m entitled to some questions.”

 

Oliver lowers his bow at that. He’s still a threat. He doesn’t need a weapon, much less a nocked arrow, to take out an unarmed target. But it gives him the appearance of cooperating to coax more answers from her.

 

“We’re exploring the possibility that the Bertinellis were involved,” Oliver informs her. 

 

“The Bertinellis?” Martina scoffs and her disbelief has her relaxing even more. “You’re wasting your time, then. My family hasn’t had anything to do with them since my brother Nick died decades ago. Jackson would never have gotten mixed up with them. Ever. My understanding is that they fell apart not long after that anyway. Why are you looking into them?”

 

They skirt her question with ease. 

 

“What about Dina?” Eric asks. “Your sister-in-law?” 

 

“She ran after Frank Bertinelli died,” Martina replies. “I haven’t talked to her in at least a decade. I don’t even know what city she lives in. Why do you think Jackson was the target?”

 

Jules sits on the edge of her seat, staring at that woman’s face, looking for any crack in her facade that might indicate she’s being less than truthful. There’s nothing, though. Jules feels like she might be sick. 

 

“It’s an avenue we’re exploring,” Oliver replies. “Why do you think he wasn’t?”

 

Martina hesitates. Her gaze turns wary, her lips pursing together tightly, like she’s biting her tongue for the first time since this started. It’s enough to give Jules the tiniest sliver of hope, but that disappears an instant later. 

 

“He loved that Queen girl so much,” Martina finally says, shaking her head. The mournful moan that escapes Jules’ lips barely sounds human before she presses a hand to her mouth. With a soft whisper that Jules doesn’t hear, her mom scoots her chair closer, drawing an arm around her shoulders. Jules is so fixed on the screen as Martina continues that she barely feels it. “He’d have done anything for her. And it had nothing to do with her name or her money. Not in the least. But those things must have made her a target. I think that’s why Jackson died. Someone was trying to get to her. He got in the way.”

 

A tear scorches its way down Jules’ cheek.

 

“That’s another theory we’re working on,” Eric answers grimly. 

 

“Focus there,” Martina advises. “And if you need anything at all from me, you don’t need to corner me in an alley. I want his killer found, too, you know. I loved that boy from the moment he was born to the moment he died. He deserves to have peace and my poor brother deserves to know his son’s killer was caught.”

 

“Focusing there doesn’t mean we abandon other leads,” Oliver points out. “The Salvatis and the Bertinellis go way back. And the timing of everything is too big a coincidence.”

 

“Then what do you need?” Martina asks, exasperation coloring her tone. “Ask and I’ll give it to you. You want my computer? My cell phone records? My banking records? If it will get you off of this absurd notion that his death goes back to my family, I’ll happily provide it.”

 

This is when Jules knows for sure that Martina isn’t lying. It’s the frustration in her voice, the grief, and her own desire to know what happened to her nephew. And her obvious belief that it wasn’t because of her own family that he died. The rattling sob that pulls itself from deep in Jules’ chest is so filled with pain it stuns her. Tears slip down her cheeks, more sobs following as she bows her head. 

 

Her mother is right there, hugging her closer, murmuring, “You’re okay, Julie-bug,” into her hair. 

 

She’s not. She’s not okay, not even  _ close _ . This was supposed to be the answer, it was supposed to solve everything and give her the closure so desperately needs, but… it’s not.

 

Nothing is okay.

 

Martina’s voice continues on. 

 

If Jules were stronger she’d rip the earpiece out and silence the woman, but she’s not. 

 

“Julie Queen is a sweet girl,” Martina says. Jules’ chest damned near caves in and she looks up, watching the woman talk through her own tears. “A little rough around the edges maybe, but sweet, bright, and so talented. Had he lived, Jackson would’ve married that girl in a heartbeat. He’d already bought her a ring. Pretty little thing he saved up for himself. He practically worshiped the ground Julie walked on, lit up anytime someone mentioned her. I knew my nephew. Given the choice, he’d die in her place every time. But I do have to wonder if she would have been as big a target if she’d already been Julianna Salvati instead of Julianna Queen. If you’re looking for leads, start with whoever had motive to go after the Queens.”

 

“I can’t,” Jules breathes out, finally tugging out the earpiece and standing abruptly, knocking the chair over in her haste. “I can’t do this. I have to go. I have to-”

 

“You have to stay right here,” her mother interrupts. Jules shakes her head, moving to leave, but Felicity gets in her way, stopping her. “Jules, you need to stay right here. You’re too upset to drive right now. Do you understand me?” 

 

But she has to do  _ something _ . Jules turns away, pacing her way around the room, her fingers tapping against her thigh in a rapid staccato. She stares at the ground, the only thing she can concentrate on. Her heart aches and her head swims as the water in her eyes spills over again with a muffled sob. Nothing stops the need to run, to  _ escape _ , that thrums through her. 

 

It’s been a very long time since she’s felt this trapped in a moment and oh god, she can’t… 

 

“None of that was news, sweetheart,” her mom says. Jules doesn’t see or hear her mother until she appears in her path again, placing both hands on her shoulders, stopping her mid-stride. “You have that ring. You knew he loved you. That you made him so happy for so long is something you should be proud of.” 

 

“I just…” Jules starts, but her voice breaks. “If I’d only…”

 

“ _ Stop _ .” Felicity shakes her head. “Don’t do that. Locking yourself in this cycle of regret does you no favors. And Jules, baby, this is gonna sound harsh, but it’s not what he died for. He wanted more for you than guilt and a never-ending list of things you wish you could’ve done differently.”

 

“I thought it was them,” Jules whispers, gulping down tears. “I thought it wasn’t me. For once, in three damned years, I let myself believe this wasn’t my fault. That nothing would’ve changed if he hadn’t known me.”

 

“Plenty would’ve changed if he hadn’t known you, Jules,” her mom says. “Not the least of which is erasing those two years you spent together. He didn’t want to die. But I also can’t see him giving that up, either.  _ None _ of this is your fault, honey. None of it. The blame lies squarely at the feet of a dead hitman and whoever hired him. Not you. Never you.”

 

“I wish…” Jules starts, but it goes nowhere. There are too many ways that sentence ends, all of them lost to time, to fate, to the blade of a sharp knife. 

 

“I do, too,” her mom says, cupping her cheek. “I miss seeing you that happy with someone.”

 

She leaves off that she hadn’t seen it nearly as often as she would’ve liked, but Jules knows its true. In those days, she’d broken her life into parts, sorted it all out into categories that overlapped as little as possible. All things Arrow and Queen were in one box; all things Jackson were in another. She had loved just being his Julie, being a part of something that had nothing to do with her family name or money, nothing to do with her parents’ mission. She’d wanted to keep that separate. In the end, though… In the end, it seems as though that’s what killed him. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Jules chokes out, her face crumpling. “I’m so sorry.”

 

She’s not sure if it’s an apology to her mother or Jackson, but either way she gets pulled into the comfort of her mother’s arms. It’s not something she feels like she deserves, but it  _ is _ something that she needs. So she accepts the hushed, soothing words of forgiveness and love her mother offers. 


	12. Chapter 12

 

By the time her dad and Eric get back, Jules has long since reined in her emotions and the evidence of her tears has been washed away. That doesn’t stop the pitying looks of concern, though. She hates it. She knows it’s coming from a good place, but it still makes everything fresh and awful all over again. 

 

And she’s so damn sick of crying. She’s been sick of crying for years. 

 

“Good news is your boy was as squeaky clean as you thought he was,” Eric points out, punching her shoulder. Jules takes the hit and rocks her body with the blow. 

 

“I never had a doubt about him,” she replies. “I wouldn’t have objected to some of the other Salvatis being dirty, though.”

 

“Only ones dirty are the hands that did him in,” Eric tells her, fixing her with a hard look. “You got that? There’s no bad guys in this room. This ain’t on you.”

 

“Yeah, I got that,” she says.

 

He nods. “You better.”

 

“Did you have plans tonight?” her father asks, pulling her attention away from Eric. “We could train for a bit.”

 

Jules shakes her head. “No. I think I’m just gonna head home. Maybe make some popcorn and watch a little TV.”

 

_ I’m going to go curl up on my sofa with my dog and cry a lot _ . That’s what she’s really saying and her mother knows it, even if Eric doesn’t. Judging by the look her dad is giving her, she suspects he knows, too. 

 

“Popcorn’s a terrible dinner, Julie-Bug,” her mom notes. “Why don’t you join us and Nate tonight? Dad’s trying a new chicken dish and Will said he might stop by later.”

 

“Why is Will stopping by?” Jules asks.

 

Oliver’s hesitation is obvious and for an instant she assumes the worst before he says, “He’s raiding the wine cellar for something to bring to his girlfriend’s parents house.”

 

Jules is so stunned she swears her eyes are two seconds away from falling out of her head.

 

“He’s meeting his girlfriend’s parents?” she asks. “On purpose?”

 

“Be nice,” her father warns. 

 

“No!” Jules denies. “I’m not… I just…  _ Really _ ?” 

 

“He’s trying, Jules,” her father says. His voice is heavy and a little too intense given the topic. “He’s really, really trying.”

 

“He’s just trying with the wrong girl,” her mom mutters under her breath, but it’s not quiet enough because Jules catches it. So does Oliver judging by the sigh and raised eyebrow he offers his wife. Nonchalance colors Felicity’s face. “What?”

 

“You don’t like her?” Jules asks, thinking back to the woman she’d barely met at Alex’s house. 

 

“I like her just fine,” her mom replies, seeming a little abashed that anyone actually heard her. “I just don’t like her for  _ Will _ . But that’s not my call to make, so…”

 

“That’s something he’ll have to figure out on his own,” her father adds. 

 

Jules can’t remember the last time her parents weighed in on her big brother’s girl du jour. But, then, maybe that’s the point. She’s not a fling this time, is she? He’s trying to build something real, something lasting. It just also seems like he’s more invested in the type of relationship he has than the person it’s with.

 

“Alright, I’ll come for dinner,” Jules decides. She’s been wrapped up in her own life for a while. Maybe it’s time she pays just a little attention to her brother’s. “Someone has to steer Will clear from the late harvest viognier.” 

 

“A lot of people like a nice dessert wine, you know,” her mother says, a little too defensively. 

 

“A lot of people like fruitcake, too, but it doesn’t mean you should ever inflict it on someone,” Jules retorts. 

 

“Yikes,” Eric says with a cringe, tilting his head in agreement. Jules holds her hand out for a high five, which Eric offers up immediately. 

 

“Are you two done?” Oliver asks, looking at them both as if they’re children. 

 

“Not even close,” Jules replies, fully embracing the lightness of the moment. “Wouldn’t object to more, to be honest.”

 

“You’re on your own for that,” Eric says, checking the time. “I gotta go meet Roy. Am I cool to fill him in on today? He’s gonna wanna know.”

 

“Yeah,” Oliver says. “Saves me a call later.”

 

And, just like that, the sadness is back. It swamps her all over again. It’s less dramatic this time, less crippling, but no less painful. Jules swallows hard and pushes the feeling down, back where she’d banished it before. Now the trick is to keep it down there until she can get home to cry it all out.

 

Felicity snaps her fingers with a bright, “Oh, Jules,” before pointing in her daughter’s direction. “Since you’re coming over anyhow, can you do me a favor?”

 

“Possibly,” Jules hedges. She’s not the sort to give a blanket agreement like that, even for her mother. “Depends on what it is.”

 

“Nate’s car is in the shop. Can you pick him up from school?” 

 

Oh, yeah, sure, because  _ that’s _ better. Could her mother be any more obvious?

 

Felicity must read the hesitation on Jules’ face because she makes a toothy, pleading smile and adds, “It would mean a lot. I have some programs I need to get running here and Dad has to swing by the store for dinner stuff. I’d rather Nate not have to walk home after swim practice and it’s on your way.”

 

The urge to say no is strong, but Jules knows there’s no reason other than she doesn’t want to deal with her little brother. They’re both raw, her even more so after what they’d found out this afternoon, after the assumption she’d been banking on got blown out of the water. But she also doesn’t want to leave him hanging. 

 

“Fine,” Jules finally says. “Fine. When do I need to be there?” 

 

“Thank you,” her mother says, kissing her on the cheek. “And your brother thanks you.” Jules rolls her eyes. “You’ll probably want to get going in just a minute. I’ll text him and let him know you’re on your way.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“And no fighting, Julianna,” her mom adds, her tone turning serious. “He loves you and he’s scared. Be patient with him. Got it?”

 

Yeah, she’s got it, just like she’s got that this is the entire point of her mom’s maneuvering today. She’s killing two birds with one stone - keeping Jules from moping alone in her apartment and trying to mend fences between two of her kids. 

 

And people think it’s her  _ dad _ who’s the strategist of the family. Her mom is every bit as much a tactical planner, maybe even more than Oliver sometimes. She’s just a whole lot sneakier about it. 

 

“Check,” Jules says. “No badgering the brother.  _ Either _ brother. Is Ellie coming to dinner? Am I allowed to pick on her?”

 

Her dad sighs. “Julianna.”

 

“What?” Jules asks. “Sometimes a girl needs a verbal punching bag. And Ellie can take it. She just snarks back.”

 

“She’s got a class,” her mother says. “Three hour lecture. She won’t be there. Sorry, you’ll just have to behave instead.”

 

“Well, that’s no fun.” Jules grabs her purse. “I’ll get Nate, but after that I’m swinging by for Bokeh. I don’t like leaving her with the sitter that long. Then we’ll be over.”

 

“It’s a plan,” her mom confirms. “See you in a bit.”

 

Jules heads out with a little wave of her fingers.

 

It’s not a long drive to Nate’s school - her old high school - but it gives her time to reflect, to live in her own head. For all that she really does appreciate her mom’s gentle push for her to spend time with the family today, she also needs to process. 

 

To have gotten her hopes up that Jackson’s death had nothing to do with her only to have them thoroughly dashed away… 

 

Well, that hurts.  _ A lot.  _ They’re not back at square one - far from it - but it feels like it. Still, clues are a lot more prevalent than any time before. The hitmen’s bodies alone are proof of that. The knowledge they’d died at roughly the same time as Jackson is significant. And knowing  _ someone _ out there is responsible for his death beyond the actual assailant… that’s new, too. So there  _ are _ clues. 

 

They just aren’t pointing in the direction Jules had wanted them to. At least then there’d been a definite line of action that could be followed. Now she feels like they’re having to rearrange the puzzle pieces when she thought they’d already been in place.

 

With a heavy sigh, Jules rolls up to the curb in front of the school where her brother is already waiting for her, backpack slung over one shoulder and chewing on his lip as he taps away at a tablet. 

 

He’s probably doing homework, like the dork that he is. 

 

“Hey, Bug,” she shouts, rolling down the window. “Heard you need a lift.”

 

Nate grimaces, not looking at her. Instead he looks around like he’s trying to make sure no one heard her. There’s no one in earshot, though, so he just shoots her an annoyed look before heading to her car.

 

“Don’t be such a sourpuss,” Jules chides as he slides in and buckles his seatbelt. 

 

He glowers at her. “You make it so easy.”

 

“Oh, lighten up,” she says. “I’m just messing with you. How’s practice? How’s school? Any blushing teenage girls making your voice squeak?”

 

Nate lets out a short laugh. “Like I’m gonna talk to you about girls.”

 

“Why not?” she asks, casting a sideways glance his way. “I am one, in case you forgot. That makes me an authority and an excellent resource. And I know how you love source material.” 

 

“You’re my sister,” he replies slowly. “I’m not going to talk to you about that stuff.”

 

“Well, that’s just sad, Nater-Tater-Bug,” Jules muses just before she takes the next corner a bit too fast, mostly to make Nate sigh in annoyance. 

 

It works.

 

“Maybe if you stopped calling me nicknames,” he adds, “I’d be more inclined to chat with you about serious things.”

 

Jules raises both eyebrows at him. “Really?” 

 

“No,” he admits. “But it would be nice if you knocked it off. I’m not seven anymore.”

 

“I do seem to recall a few birthday parties along the way,” Jules says. “But fine. What about the rest of it?”

 

“Just an average day,” he tells her. “But I hear yours wasn’t.”

 

Jules flinches, pursing her lips tightly. Her mother  _ would _ give Nate a heads up of their findings, wouldn’t she? 

 

“You okay?” Nate asks, his voice soft.

 

That startles her more than anything else could right now. Jules feels his eyes on her but she keeps hers on the road, slowly nodding. 

 

“Yeah,” she says just as quietly before tossing him a shrug. “You know me. I bounce back just fine. I’m used to shit like this.”

 

“Well, that’s a lie,” Nate replies. 

 

He’s well-meaning, she knows that, but the way he says it rubs her the wrong way and she shoots him a dark look.

 

“What do you want from me, Nate?” Jules asks. “I’m doing what I can.”

 

“I want you to stop acting like finding whoever ordered that hit is gonna solve anything,” Nate tells her. “I get that you want justice, and that whoever did this is still a threat to us. I get that, okay? But… but they haven’t done anything in three years and I’m scared as hell that poking around looking for them is just asking for them to lash out at us again.”

 

Jules clenches her jaw. He’s scared, and even though it’s of the very thing she wants to dive head-first into, a surge of protectiveness has her wanting to do everything she can to keep him away from it all. It’s  _ aggravating _ . Her grip on the steering wheel tightens, frustration and understanding warring in her chest.

 

“This person conspired to commit murder, Nate,” she reminds him. “Against  _ us _ . Being scared is normal, but this is what we do. It doesn’t matter that we were the targets. And,  _ yes _ , it matters more to me because Jackson was killed. Of course it does. But Team Arrow would have reason to hunt this person down anyhow.”

 

“Fine,” Nate snaps. “Then treat it like Tempest going after just another crime lord, not a girl who lost her boyfriend. You’re too close to this, Jules. You’re gonna make mistakes.”

 

Jules huffs out a breath of disbelief. Don’t treat this like a girl who lost her boyfriend? How the hell does she do that? It’s great, in some ways, that Nate even thinks that’s possible. He’s never known this kind of loss. And she’s happy for that. But she can’t turn off her feelings. 

 

She’s tried.

 

The silence that follows is heavy but neither of them say anything, not until she pulls up to her apartment building. 

 

Nate glances out the window as she kills the engine. “What are we doing here?” he asks. 

 

“Grabbing Bokeh,” she replies, unbuckling and opening her door. “I’m gonna get some of her toys and food, because she’s out at the brownstone. Wanna come up and give me a hand carrying stuff?” 

 

“Okay,” Nate agrees, their earlier tension gone for the moment. 

 

By the time she rounds the car, Nate’s closing his door and stuffing his hands into his pockets, looking at her sheepishly with something clearly on his mind. 

 

“It’s not just me I worry about, you know?” he asks. He doesn’t do vulnerability well - in that, they’re very much alike - and he’s clearly uncomfortable right now. But he doesn’t stop. “I’m terrified for you, too. I love you, Jules. And as much as I’m scared for myself, I’m more scared for you than I am for me.”

 

Well, damn him. When he puts it like that, she really can’t be all that mad at him, can she? 

 

“Nate,” Jules says, touching his arm. “Look, I know you-”

 

But she doesn’t get a chance to finish that sentence. 

 

Nate’s eye catches something over her shoulder. She’ll remember later being annoyed at his distraction - they’re having a moment, damn it - but it only lasts a split second because his eyes suddenly go huge and the next thing she knows she’s hitting the ground. She lands hard enough that the entire side of her body will be mottled and discolored for days and she’s only vaguely aware of her cheek scraping the concrete, of something cutting into her jaw… 

 

But then none of that matters.

 

Three shots ring out, sharp and distinct. Two of them hit her car and the third winds up buried in the grass somewhere, landing with an ugly thud that makes her want to throw up. She only hears it, though, because she’s entirely blanketed by Nate, covering her head to toe, his arms wrapped around her.

 

He’s shielding her with his body.

 

Jules panics, assuming the very worst. As screams from other people on the street fill the air, she grabs him with a harried, “Nate? Oh God, are you-” 

 

“Stay down,” he orders, glancing around them quickly. She’s never heard him sound more like their father in her life, nor has she seen him look so much like him, and for some reason that terrifies her even more.

 

“Are you hit?” she demands. “Nate, are you-”

 

“I’m fine,” he promises. It does nothing to calm her down and she won’t be calm until she looks him in the eye and sees for herself that he’s okay. Another shot rings out, hitting the grass near them again, and Jules curses. Nate is all instinct as he says, “We need cover. Hold onto me.” 

 

She doesn’t ask questions. It’s jarring seeing her baby brother take charge like this, but the last thing they need is to muddy the waters by challenging him, especially when he obviously has the better vantage point right now. So she does as he says and holds on as he rolls them underneath her car. 

 

Thank God she has a Hummer that rides higher off the ground than normal. That does nothing to soften their movements, though. The hard ground is unrelenting, and it’s worse when they land on the asphalt, gravel scraping them all over. It doesn’t help that Nate isn’t exactly light, and she winces when several rocks dig into her spine before they’re fully covered.

 

But it does save their lives.

 

Two more shots hit her car from a new angle. Nate and Jules curl around each other as best they can with a rush of, “Where’s it coming from?” and a, “I think it’s…” just as three more shots come in quick succession, cutting Nate off. One hits the sidewalk where they’d just been, another slams into her tire, making the Hummer drop slightly, and the other clips the underside of her car. 

 

The bullet ricochets off the metal with a sharp ping, close enough for her to feel the burn, loud enough that she’ll hear it for days…

 

And then it hits Nate.

 

He cries out and it’s the worse sound she’s ever heard.

 

“No!” Jules shouts.

 

Her entire world dissolves, terror completely taking over. For all her training and all her knowledge about weapons and injuries, she isn’t Tempest in this moment. She’s just a sister frightened beyond reason, all of her senses overwhelmed and her heart pounding too fast to comprehend. 

 

It is exactly the sort of moment Will had been describing when he talked about Jackson’s death, but she doesn’t realize that in the moment. 

 

“Nate,” she says, tugging at him, needing to see his face, to know he’s okay _. _ “ _ Nate _ .”

 

“I’m okay,” he tells her, even as his face contorts in pain. He looks so young in this moment, so like the little boy he really is, and for all his bravery and protectiveness over her, she wants nothing more than to keep him safe. He hisses, repeating, “I’m okay,” and she’s pretty sure it’s as much for him as for her. Jules tries to see where it hit him and when he says, “My thigh,” she can hear the tears in his voice.

 

She surges into action. The sudden kick of adrenaline clears her head and her phone is in her hand before she even realizes it. She sends an S.O.S. with their location to her parents and the rest of the team first before calling 911. 

 

“Nate, kiddo, lie flat on your back,” Jules tells him as the line rings, scooting around so she can get closer to his leg. She tugs at the already-ripped midriff of her shirt until it tears off and wraps it around her brother’s leg snugly. When it’s tied off, she presses her hand to the wound, earning a pained yelp from him. Jules grimaces with a muted, “Sorry,” as blood immediately soaks through the makeshift tourniquet, but it’s not nearly as much as she’d feared. She wonders - hopes, prays - that it’s a just a graze. Either way she’s not about to leave anything to chance. 

 

Least of all a shooter whose clip can’t possibly be empty after just those few shots.

 

When the 911 operator answers she rattles off the critical details quickly, precisely. They try to get her to stay on the line, but she ends the call, tossing her phone aside. 

 

Her attention needs to be on their surroundings. She needs to be ready, especially because she’s starting to wonder if the lull in shots is the shooter trying to get a better angle.

 

“Building next to mine?” she asks Nate.

 

“Yeah,” he breathes through clenched teeth. “Fourth floor. Saw the... Damn, that hurts, Jules.”

 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Bug. We’ve gotta keep pressure on it,” she tells him, using her free hand to grip his. She tries to look up at him and hits her head on the undercarriage of her car, making her grimace. “Help’s on the way, okay? This isn’t so bad. You’re gonna be fine and then you’ll have a cool scar to show all those girls you won’t tell me about.”

 

The noise he responds with is a mix of a sob and a laugh and she knows that his moment of exceptional bravery has passed. Now he’s a mess of terror and adrenaline that makes his hands shake and his breathing too fast. 

 

“You’re so brave, Bug. You know that?” she asks him, putting her cheek to the ground to check their surroundings as best she can. “You saved my life twice in the last five minutes.”

 

“Good thing I got new glasses so I could see the muzzle,” he says with a breathy laugh, his voice twisting in pain. “Think I’m gonna need another new pair after this, though.”

 

It’s true. His glasses are beaten to hell. 

 

“I’ll buy you a dozen,” Jules promises. “Did you see the shooter? What kind of gun are we talking?” 

 

“I’m bad at this,” he reminds her. She bites back the urge to tell him he’s not half as bad as he thinks when his voice steadies as he thinks back. “But if I had to guess, I’d say a .308 Winchester with a scope.”

 

“He switched to another window after we hit the ground?” Jules asks. 

 

And just like that he’s her baby brother again. Nate’s face crumples as he nods. He’s being so brave, this kid, but his eyes water over in fear and pain as he thinks back to when the shots were being fired. 

 

“Hey, you’re okay, Bug,” Jules says, gripping his hand as hard as she can. He nods and she squeezes his hand in reassurance. “Okay, good. Stay here, I’m gonna-”

 

“What? No!” he gasps, grabbing her hand so hard it hurts. “No, don’t go.”

 

If she’s going to get any sort of drop on the shooter, she needs to go now. Her mind is already ten steps ahead, knows exactly what route she’s going to take to get around her building and to the one next to it, which fire escape ladder she can grab and dart up to get to the fourth floor… 

 

“Nate, I’m just-”

 

“No!” he shouts. “Oh god, I’m going to throw up.”

 

“Nate, hey, easy,” she soothes, trying not to cry out herself when his grip on her hand starts crushing her bones. It feels like it at least, just as much as it seems like it’s the only thing keeping him from ralphing everywhere. He does look a bit green around the edges. “Just breathe, Nate. You’re okay.”

 

“Don’t go anywhere, Jules,” he pleads, his eyes finding hers. “ Please. If there are more shots and you aren’t here…” His voice trails off but the panic in his voice fills in the blanks. Jules presses her lips into a thin hard line. He’s protected, and that’s the important part. Alright, one of the important parts. The other one is that the longer they sit here, the longer the shooter has to get to them first, and she isn’t about to let that happen. Nate doesn’t have to look at her to know exactly what she’s thinking, and he’s already talking, “What if you’re out there looking for him and I’m down here helpless?” he asks. He doesn’t have to fake the sheer terror in his eyes. “He saw where we went. I can’t run, Jules. I’d be trapped.”

 

_ No _ . The thought is immediate, instinctive. Because the police are coming, her parents, the team. He won’t be alone, because backup is on its way… 

 

But it’s not here yet, and anybody could come up. Someone who wants to help… or the person trying to kill them.

 

The idea of Nate facing that alone jolts her so hard she hits her head on the underside of her car again. The thought of him dying because she wanted to attack first, ask questions later…  _ No _ . No, she won’t leave Nate right now. Not for this. Not for anything. She’s not about to lose another person she loves, and definitely not because she leaves them vulnerable.

 

Jules finally nods and the relief that fills his eyes has her own eyes filling with tears. No, she’s not leaving him right now. She can’t. 

 

“Okay, Nate,” she says, knowing he needs to hear it. “I’m not going anywhere, Bug. Okay? You’re stuck with me.”

 

He gulps out a sob and nods quickly with an uneven, “Okay.” Tears flood his eyes and his face crinkles, his head falling back against the concrete with a thud. He whispers, “Okay,” again as he draws an arm across his eyes, tears falling in earnest. In this moment he is not the heroic young man who acted immediately to save her life, even at the risk of his own. No, right now he’s a terrified little boy who wants to be anywhere other than under a car desperately hoping the person hunting them just leaves. 

 

Jules inches across the ground, careful to limit her exposure to the area around them as she makes her way up towards him. When she gets there, she puts an arm around him and he turns into her body, crying and clinging to what’s left of her shirt. 

 

He’s already saved her. It’s her turn to be there for him. 

 

“I got you,” she murmurs. “You’re okay.” She kisses the top of his head as she skims the barely-visible world beyond the underside of her car. “You’re my own personal hero, Nate. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you and Dad’s on his way. You hear me?”

 

He says nothing, but he does nod into her chest. 

 

She has never felt so protective over someone in her entire life. She doesn’t have a weapon - there’s not even anything around her she can use in a pinch - but she feels like she could take on any threat bare-handed if she had to right now, just for her little brother’s sake. 

 

She doesn’t have to, though, because backup gets there. The distant wail of sirens closes in on them, getting nearer by the second, but it’s their mother’s voice she hears first. 

 

“ _ Jules! Nate! _ ” If panic were an audible thing, it would be their mother’s voice. “Oh my god, her car.”

 

“Felicity, you can’t just rush-” Oliver’s voice starts. 

 

“I damn well  _ can _ , Oliver.” Jules doesn’t have to imagine too hard her mother fighting her father’s grip as she turns as best she can with Nate gripping her, finally spotting their feet a couple dozen feet away. “I  _ can _ because these are my children. I don’t give a damn about-”

 

“Down here!” Jules calls, cutting her mother off. “We’re under the car.” She sticks her arm out and waves her fingers. 

 

The rush of her mother’s heels clacking against the concrete is the only sound Jules hears past the rush of relief. She watches her mother scurry to their hiding spot, dropping to the pavement with a thud as she grabs her daughter’s hand. 

 

“Oh my god, Jules,” she breathes, her voice breaking. “Are you guys okay? What happened?”

 

“We’ll be fine. Shooter next door,” Jules replies. “Six shots from a .308. He was on the fourth floor, changed position once. We didn’t get a good look.”

 

She spots her father’s shoes. Not his boots; he didn’t take time to change into his Arrow gear. He’s physically blocking her mom, turned away from the car and likely skimming the building next door. 

 

“Cynisca, both Arsenals, Spartan and Dart are on it,” he tells her. “But it’s broad daylight and this is a fairly quiet residential area. I’m guessing the shooter already bolted. The sirens alone would’ve spooked them. Someone called it in.”

 

“I did,” Jules tells them. 

 

“ _ You  _ did?” her mom asks. 

 

“Yeah,” she confirms. “Nate got shot.”

 

All things considered, this was probably the worst way to deliver this kind of information to her parents. With a sharp, “What?” her dad drops to the ground with her mother, reaching out for both of them. Suddenly, the risk of the shooter must seem a whole lot less important in the face of his child being injured.

 

“He’s okay,” Jules says in a rush. Nate’s still clinging to her, crying. He hasn’t even looked at his mom. It’s weird. Jules half-expected him to immediately reach for Felicity, but it’s like nothing else is happening outside the bubble of comfort she’s offering him. Trauma does that, she realizes, makes everything zero down in weird ways. She knows from experience. “A bullet clipped his thigh when it bounced off the ground. I didn’t see an entry point, it’s just a graze. He’s okay, Mom. Bleeding’s already slowing.”

 

There’s no telling Felicity Queen this, though. She needs her children in her arms and she needs it  _ now _ to assess their injuries for herself.

 

“Come here, baby,” she orders, dropping down and scooting a little under the car, not caring in the least when engine oil smears her designer business dress. “Nate, come here.”

 

He doesn’t move, not until she touches him and then it’s like he remembers there’s a whole world outside of wherever he’s mentally hiding. With a tear-laced, “Mom,” he rolls toward her instead, clinging to her arms and sobbing like a child after a nightmare. 

 

Which is exactly what this is, Jules thinks, watching as Felicity manages to scoot him closer to the curb so she and Oliver can get a look at him.

 

“Scoot this way, buddy,” her dad commands gently. “I need to see your leg. I know it hurts, son. I know.”

 

Nate lets out a sharp cry as he shifts his leg closer to his dad for inspection. 

 

Oliver’s voice is strung tight as he says, “Good boy, Nate.”

 

Jules can’t remember the last time she heard real fear in her father’s voice. He’s endured so much in his life and he’s come out the other side. Even if she doesn’t say it, when she looks at him, he seems like he’s survived everything life can throw at someone. But this scares him. Even if it’s a minor injury, seeing his teenage son shot and bleeding in the parking lot of his daughter’s apartment, hiding beneath a car… 

 

That does it.

 

Oliver’s face is taut, his face oddly bloodless as he says, “I’m gonna move the fabric a little so I can see, okay, buddy? I want you to pay attention to your mom,” he tells his son. “Steady breaths. It’s okay to cry.”

 

He was going to anyhow, but being told that by his father seems like a relief. Tears stream freely down Nate’s cheeks as he clings to his mother’s arms. Jules rubs his shoulder with nonsensical soothing noises, knowing what comes next won’t be easy for him.

 

Even if she hadn’t been watching her father’s work, Jules would’ve known the moment that the fabric was pulled away from Nate’s injury because his entire body seizes up in tension and he lets out a sharp cry of pain. 

 

“Good job, kiddo,” his dad says, keeping his eyes fixed on the wound. “You’re doing great. I need to touch the edge of the injury. It’s gonna hurt, but I have to see how bad this is and there’s a lot of blood and gravel. Do you understand?”

 

All Nate manages to do is nod hard before pressing his face into their mom’s shoulder. He’s so pale, such a greenish hue, that it’s probably best he doesn’t open his mouth. 

 

“You are being so brave, Nate,” his mom whispers, her eyes watering as she cups her son’s cheek. 

 

“You have no idea,” Jules says, stroking Nate’s hair. “He saved my life. Twice. I didn’t even see the gun. He did. He tackled me to the ground and shielded me with his body.”

 

Her mom starts crying at that, a soft, “Oh god,” falling from her lips. She looks so helpless, so scared and frustrated and Jules wishes she could hug her too, right now. Toward her feet, she barely catches sight of her father freezing at her words, or the way his eyes pinch shut and he swallows hard against a swell of emotion.

 

“He’s my hero,” Jules says, kissing her brother’s hair again. 

 

That seems to jolt Nate from the moment and he pulls back enough to say, “You’d’ve done the same.”

 

“Yeah,” Jules replies. “But you’re the one who  _ did  _ it.”

 

For a second there’s nothing but the encroaching sirens turning up her street as those words sink in.

 

“You’re gonna be fine, Nate,” Oliver promises him. “It’s gonna hurt for a bit and you’ll need stitches, probably out for at least a month on track and field, but it’s just a flesh wound.” He grips his son’s ankle. “You got lucky.”

 

Nate huffs. “I don’t feel very lucky.”

 

“Well,  _ I  _ do,” Felicity replies. 

 

Jules isn’t sure which side she falls on, but she doesn’t get the chance to think about it because the sirens finally arrive and there’s suddenly a flurry of activity. 

 

Her father shouts that the Arrow and his team went after the shooter, pointing at the building he’d taken aim from. Uncle Digg appears in a window, decked out entirely as Spartan, and shouts down to the cops that the shooter’s gone, but he left casings behind. Jules knows without having to ask that Digg’s already pocketed at least one of them. 

 

The presence of Team Arrow seems to put the police a little more at ease. Vigilantes still might not be exactly welcomed by law enforcement, but they are a familiar sight by now. And the fact that they’re not being shot at is a good sign.

 

Things relax after that, at least in some ways. Police and EMTs swarm. Someone gives Jules a hand out from under the car and paramedics help get Nate out and onto a stretcher. Ellie, who’s ditched her gear somewhere but is still wearing her boots and still has smears of black makeup from where she’d had her mask on, races across the lawn of the apartment complex and nearly bowls Jules over with a hug and a choked, “Oh my God, Jules,” before reaching one hand out for Nate’s. 

 

“We’re okay,” Jules assures her, ignoring the questions that a nearby police officer is attempting to pepper her with. She’ll answer those in a bit, but she needs this moment with her siblings. “But one thing is clear. This needs to be finished. For good.”

 

The last person she would ever expect to speak up next does. 

 

“Immediately,” Nate says, fixing his sisters with red-faced determination. 

 

The meaning is clear and Ellie nods in grim solidarity. This is going to end. 

 

And they’re the ones who are going to see it finished. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See my Twitter https://twitter.com/so_caffeinated later today for info on how you can win a flashfic of your choice written for you, as a part of the Remember Baby Sara Diggle campaign! Thanks for reading guys. Alex is back next week.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting as we're getting ready to go to Magic Kingdom for the day. More importantly to you, probably, I'm posting and Alex is back. Enjoy, guys!

The evening does not go as planned. 

 

For starters, there is no dinner at the brownstone. Nate gets admitted to the hospital - “ _ Just to be on the safe side”  _ \- and Jules winds up getting a really bad meal at a food cart outside the building with Ellie after borrowing one of the backup shirts her sister keeps in her Jeep.

 

Her mom hadn’t even wanted to let them go that far. The shooter being on the loose has her in overprotective mode and while Jules gets that, she’s also not going to lock herself away out of fear. That’s no way to live and that is definitely not how she will handle this. And besides, the area around the hospital is  _ crawling _ with cops. 

 

She does take a gun, though. One of Spartan’s. Her chain-whip is a bit of a dead giveaway, and besides, her aim with a pistol is solid. Ellie declines, preferring the ever-present darts she keeps on her at all times.

 

When Will shows up, he’s already been up to see Nate, but he’s still wide-eyed with worry, his body vibrating with anxious energy, desperately needing to reassure himself that his whole family is fine. 

 

Jules wonders if she’s gonna start to feel smothered by his hugs, if this keeps up.

 

Especially when he doesn’t let her go for a minute.

 

“I’m fine,” Jules repeats, finally escaping his arms. She scoops up a forkful of rapidly cooling noodles that are barely edible. “I didn’t get hit,” she says around a mouthful of the rubbery food.

 

“I know.” He nods, like he’s trying to convince himself. “I know.”

 

“Do we have anything on the shooter yet?” Ellie asks just before shoving her own food into her mouth. Jules is beyond jealous that her sister’s cheesesteak looks like it might actually have flavor. 

 

“I haven’t heard anything from Digg or Roy,” Jules replies, glancing at her phone. “Has Sara texted you? Or Eric?” 

 

“No,” Ellie responds. “I guess they’re still working on it.”

 

“Well, I think there are some assumptions we can make,” Will chimes in. He sits and rests his elbows on the picnic table, leaning toward his sisters. “I think it’s safe to figure that whoever this is knows we’re investigating Jackson’s death and we’ve got to be close to something for them to risk showing their hand.”

 

“ _ We _ ?” Jules echoes, raising both eyebrows at him.

 

“Yeah,  _ we _ ,” Will emphasizes. “Someone shot my brother. They tried to kill you. You’d better believe I’m in this, too. I’m not interested in being a vigilante, but if my family is in danger I’m gonna show up and do whatever needs to be done.”

 

“And what’s your girlfriend gonna have to say about that?” Ellie asks. 

 

“Nothing at all,” Will replies tightly. “Because I don’t have one anymore.”

 

The words are said confidently, but the pain that runs through his voice is obvious. It has a pang of sympathy tugging at Jules’ heart and she puts a hand on her brother’s shoulder. 

 

“Sorry,” she tells him. “She seemed nice.”

 

“She is,” Will agrees, looking down to his hands. “She just… She reevaluated some things. That’s all.”

 

Ellie quirks her head to the side, studying her brother. “What exactly does that mean?” 

 

“It means that it dawned on her that dating a Queen isn’t exactly the safest choice,” Jules fills in. She watches Will closely as she speaks, but she knows she’s right even before he sets his jaw and nods at his hands. 

 

Ellie sighs. “Oh Will…” 

 

“It’s fine,” he says, looking up and shrugging. “We weren’t together that long. It’s not like I was in love with her. I just thought, maybe… Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought now, does it?”

 

“Sure it does,” Ellie replies, grabbing hold of his hand and earning herself a thin smile. “It’s still hard. You don’t have to hide that.”

 

Jules bites back the urge to point out that Ellie’s ability to relate is based on a very specific person, while Will’s was more the idea of someone. That wouldn’t be received well by either of them. But in truth, they’re in very different places right now. Ellie has always wanted a sweeping, emotional love story with Sara while Will just wants a solid, steady connection with a woman he cares about. And Jules… Well, Jules is different from both of them, isn’t she? She’s not looking for solid and she’s not looking for emotional. 

 

No, her wants are a bit more primal than that.

 

All the adrenaline that’s still strumming under the surface of her skin suddenly shoots to her center. It coils in a white hot bundle that has heat rushing over every inch of her. It doesn’t go away, or fade, or do anything but get stronger. Jules blows a short breath out as Ellie and Will talk, but the heat only turns into lava, creeping, filling her, but not with the thing she needs.

 

Her mind whips back to her art studio, to hot hands on her naked skin, to the warmth flooding her when she ground down on a hard lap… and then she thinks back to fingers down her pants, hot breath against her ear, demanding whispers and wet kisses that she can  _ feel _ … 

 

“Can I borrow your car?” Jules blurts. She looks at her siblings. “One of you? Mine is like a well-used shooting target sheet right now.”

 

“I can give Ellie a lift home,” Will offers.

 

“Yeah, you can use mine,” Ellie adds. “Where are you going?” 

 

Jules is already getting up, gathering her trash. “Just need to see a friend, is all,” she replies.

 

Ellie raises an eyebrow, missing nothing. “A  _ guy _ friend?” 

 

“None of your business,” Jules retorts, holding out her hand. “Keys, please?” 

 

“Jules… if you’re going to see the person I think you’re going to see…” Ellie hesitates before dropping the keys into Jules’ hand. Will’s eyes dart between them like he’s watching a ping-pong match. 

 

“Relax,” Jules says. “Tell Mom and Dad I’ll stay at the brownstone tonight. Cops are probably still crawling all over my apartment. But I’ll be in late. I’m fine. I’m armed. I will be careful and keep my phone on me.”

 

“Okay, but expect Mom to be tracking your phone,” Ellie points out. “Because she  _ will _ .”

 

Jules winces, gritting her teeth. Damn it, she’s right, and that so does not suit her interests at the moment. 

 

She works to unclench her jaw before finally saying, “Fine.” There’s really no other option and they both know it. “But please tell her to keep it to herself. I’m totally safe at my friend’s place. I just…” Jules avoids looking at Will as she says, “I don’t really want everyone in my business.”

 

“I’ll try,” Ellie promises, not even bothering to hide the fact that it will be next to impossible. It’s a warning, but Jules ignores it. 

 

“Thanks,” Jules says. She pushes away from the picnic table, tossing what was left of her dinner in a nearby trash can. “God, that was awful.”

 

“Good Thai food is hard to find,” Ellie says before brightening up. “Hey, but there’s a great little place like two blocks from your art gallery. It opened, like, a month ago. Have you tried it yet?”

 

The memory of the smell of that pad Thai wafting through her little studio as she tugged off Alex’s shirt hits her without warning. Her throat goes dry when she tries to talk, and she ends up coughing, pressing a fist to her mouth.

 

“Uh, yeah. Yup,” she agrees. “It’s delicious. Very… memorable.”

 

Will narrows his eyes at her. “You’re being weird,” he says. 

 

Ha, he’s not wrong. She straightens her shoulders, forcing nonchalance back into her frame.

 

“It’s been a weird day,” Jules replies, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek before gripping Ellie’s shoulder in solidarity. “I’ll see you both later. Be careful. Thanks for the car, Ellie.” 

 

“Try to bring it back without any bullet holes!” she replies, far too chipper.

 

Jules fights the urge to flip her off and instead just waves over her shoulder before jogging over to her sister’s Jeep.

 

It’s only when she gets in and starts the car that she realizes how much of a mess her head is right now. 

 

This day has been brutal. It’s pulled her in every direction, leaving her spinning… and  _ shaking _ . Now that she’s on her own, now that she’s looking back at the horrorfest that this day has been, it’s all hitting her. Jules squeezes her hands together, closing her eyes for a second. The day’s events whirl through her head, and it’s all compounded by what-if’s, by a sudden thought of  _ ‘What if she’d followed the wrong lead and something worse had happened?’ _

 

God, she can’t think about  _ that _ , not right now. 

 

No, right now she needs… she needs to feel secure. She needs to feel like everything is going to be okay. It’s something her parents can’t offer her, not today, not after everything. For all their efforts, she sees the worry that lives in their eyes. It’s the same worry that she sees in her siblings’ faces.

 

That’s why she’s looking for it somewhere else. 

 

It doesn’t make sense, heading to Alex’s place, looking for a grounding presence in him. But she does it anyhow and she tries very hard not to read too much into that. She lies to herself the whole way to his place, says she just needs someone - anyone - to connect with who’s got a little more distance from this. Someone outside her family. 

 

But it leaves her spinning for an entirely different reason. She doesn’t  _ need _ someone. She’s not that kind of person. She’s dealt with some of the worst things a person can deal with these last few years and she’s done it mostly on her own with the support of her family. 

 

So looking outside them, now… Well, it just doesn’t add up. 

 

The Jeep drives itself to Alex’s house. She doesn’t think twice as she parks it in his driveway and heads to his door, doesn’t pause before knocking sharply. It’s only in the silence that follows, in the waiting, that a weird flurry of butterflies settles in her stomach. Her heart starts beating too fast and she wipes her palms against her jeans. 

 

How does the prospect of seeing him do this to her? 

 

The door cracks open and all thinking stops the instant she’s face-to-face with his surprised gaze. It’s happy, though. He’s happy to see her. That settles her way more than she could have ever expected.

 

“I don’t know why I’m here,” Jules says. She tries to be dismissive - because this isn’t her - but her voice betrays her. When pleased warmth fills his eyes, she wonders if he’d know her truth even if she had better control.

 

“Well, you’re welcome here for any reason,” Alex says.

 

“I just…” She huffs out a breath, tucking her hair behind her ear as she talks. “It’s been a rough day and-”

 

Alex’s sharp inhale interrupts her just before he whips the door open the rest of the way and reaches out to touch her newly revealed cheek. She’d actually forgotten how beat up she’d gotten and for the first time since her and Nate had collided with the ground, she lets herself think about how much tomorrow is going to  _ hurt _ . His fingers drift over the raw skin where she’d face-planted on the concrete and she hisses, wincing as pain burns through her skull. 

 

But she doesn’t pull away. 

 

“What the hell happened?” he demands. “Who did this to you?” 

 

Her eyes flutter shut, leaning into his touch before she knows what she’s doing. “It’s a long story,” Jules says. “Can I come in? It’s not really safe for me to be out in the open right now.”

 

Alex doesn’t waste a second. He guides her in, eyes sweeping the street, his entire body dwarfing hers. She wanders a few steps into his living space, but she doesn’t go far, not wanting to lose his touch where his hand rests on her shoulder. She looks around, suddenly overwhelmed at how at home she feels in his space. 

 

Closing the door quickly, Alex flips the lock before turning on the light in the entryway with a quiet, “Lemme see,” as he urges her to turn to him. 

 

There’s a mirror near the door and the glimpse of herself that Jules gets proves that she’s more beat-up than she’d thought. She’s sporting some road-rash along the side of her face and the light shows that her lower lip is swollen from where she’d split it in the fall. Her tongue darts out to touch it, the instant flash of pain making her grimace. She hadn’t even felt that earlier. And her body’s worse, no doubt. Now that she’s taken a second to pause, she feels like the giant walking bruise she’s sure is already coloring the side of her body where she’d landed.

 

Lovely. 

 

“You need a doctor,” Alex says, brushing her hair behind her ear again. He gently tilts her head towards the light so he can look at the injury to her face. 

 

“I just left the hospital.”

 

A soft look of hopeful surprise colors his face as he searches her eyes. “And you came here?” he asks. 

 

“Yeah,” she whispers. The urge to explain her own actions makes her chest tighten and a swath of anxiety slices through her. “I don’t know, I just… I needed to be here.”

 

He waits for her to say more, but she doesn’t.

 

Alex nods. “Okay,” he says, licking his lips before adding, “I’m glad you came.”

 

“I’m…” Jules stops, the words getting clogged in her throat. She finally swallows hard and reaches out, gripping his shirt in her hand. The fabric crinkles between her fingers. “I’ve had a really bad day. And I just needed to be somewhere that felt…”

 

When her voice drifts off, he asks, “That felt what?” 

 

Instinct has her pressing her bruised lips into a tight line, wanting to brush his question off. The urge to force distance between them rises in her and she almost does. But those beautiful brown eyes of his beg her for an answer and something about him makes her want to give it. 

 

“That felt safe,” she answers after a moment. 

 

“You feel safe with me?” he asks.

 

“I…” Jules tears her eyes away from his, staring at his chest instead, at where she holds his shirt as she gives him a half shrug. “It’s different with you. Removed from all the messy parts of my life. I like that. Maybe I need that more than I thought.”

 

Her words linger in the air between them and a quiet sense of panic springs to life in her chest. She keeps her gaze fixed on her hand against his shirt, pinching her bruised lips together. It hurts, but she doesn’t stop, because it’s something for her to anchor on to. Uncertainty doesn’t sit well with Jules and she really doesn’t know where this thing with them is going, or why he makes her feel this way. And expressing any of it aloud... 

 

She suddenly feels so vulnerable, waiting for a response that she isn’t sure is even going to come, and she almost lets him go.

 

“Good,” Alex rumbles, rubbing his thumb against her side. Her eyes dart up to his as he touches her uninjured cheek. “I’m glad.” 

 

He’s exactly as open and wanting as he always seems to be with her. Maybe one day she’ll stop waiting for the other shoe to drop, stop expecting distance and judgement when she feels weak. But for now, the lack of it surprises her and he sees it. He must also see how absolutely terrifying that is, because he sidesteps it.

 

“You gonna tell me what happened?” he asks instead.

 

“Can we sit?” Jules asks, shifting slightly, wincing at the dull ache starting to radiate in her bones. “My side is bruised up, too and my hip is starting to hurt.”

 

“Yeah,” he agrees. He gently wraps an arm around her, lending support without her even asking, but still letting her take the lead. She doesn’t have the words to express how much she values that, so she doesn’t even try. As she lowers herself to the sofa with another wince, he adds, “You need an ice pack.”

 

Jules settles with a groan. “I need a dozen ice packs.”

 

“They didn’t give you any at the hospital?” he asks. 

 

“I used them for an hour or so,” she replies.

 

“Julianna,” he chastises. 

 

“I know. I know.” She sighs. “I make amazing life choices sometimes.”

 

“Don’t move,” he tells her. “I’m gonna get you some ice. When’s the last time you had ibuprofen?”

 

“I’m probably due for more,” she admits. “What time is it?”

 

“Almost ten.”

 

“Yeah.” Jules nods. “I wouldn’t say no to some Advil, if you’ve got it.”

 

“Be right back,” he replies before heading to his kitchen. 

 

She watches him go, appreciating his tall, well-muscled form as he leaves. She’s injured, not dead. 

 

Gathering some ice packs and the bottle of painkiller doesn’t take him long and he’s back at her side before she knows it, offering her the pills and a glass of water. She downs them gratefully before taking the ice packs from him and situating herself so that they’re pressed against her hip, knee and shoulder. She struggles keeping them in place until Alex sits beside her, gently tugging her to lean on him. 

 

It’s like puzzle pieces slipping into place. 

 

Jules sighs, sagging against him, gripping his shirt in her fist again. 

 

Alex tilts her chin up so he can see her. “What happened, Julianna?” he asks again. His voice is soft, but it’s also clear he’s not going to let this go. 

 

Her eyes search his, feeling a little wonder that she actually wants to tell him. “Someone took a shot at me,” she tells him. 

 

His eyes widen before they harden with anger. It’s a side of him she’s never seen before. He’s only ever been gentle and affectionate with her, but right now he looks ready to cut through anyone who defies him. That’s not what startles her, though. It’s that she feels even safer in his arms than she did before.

 

“Who?” Alex demands. 

 

“I don’t know,” Jules admits. “My brother saw the gun and tackled me. He saved my life, but neither of us saw the shooter.” The emotion that colors his face makes her heart ache and she’s reaching for him before she knows what she’s doing. “Are you okay?” she asks, cupping his cheek.

 

“Yeah,” Alex replies. “Just tryin’ to figure out how I say thank you to Will without him wondering why. That’s all.”

 

“Not Will,” Jules tells him. “Nate. And he got hit in the leg in the process. He’s going to be fine, though.”

 

Alex starts. “Kid’s like fourteen, right?” 

 

“Seventeen,” Jules corrects. 

 

“Will’s gotta be freaking out,” he says. 

 

“Yeah,” Jules agrees. “Plus his girlfriend dumped him.”

 

Alex sighs, breathing out a curse she doesn’t understand. “I oughta call him.”

 

“You should probably wait for him to call you,” Jules says. “He’s busy, and how would you know about any of this anyway?”

 

“I dunno. The news?” 

 

Oh. Right. They probably  _ are  _ on the news. She hadn’t even considered that, but now that he’s said it, it does seem inevitable. She groans at the thought and rests her forehead against his chest, sagging into him.

 

“Nevermind,” Alex says, draping his arms around her gently. She thinks he presses a kiss atop her head, too, but she can’t be sure. “He’ll call later. I got someone else to focus on right now.”

 

He means her.

 

She smiles against his chest and holds on a little tighter even as she wonders what the hell she’s doing. 

 

“The shooter,” he says after a minute, circling back to earlier in their conversation. “This ‘cause of something your dad’s doing?”

 

For a second, she holds her breath before remembering he knows. He already  _ knows _ about her dad. She can actually talk to him about this stuff. 

 

What a crazy, wild sense of relief that is. 

 

“Yeah,” Jules says, resting her good cheek against his chest and looking up at him. “He’s digging around in Jackson’s murder. I think someone got wind of that.”

 

He hums at that, stroking her hair as he thinks. It’s so incredibly intimate that Jules almost asks him to stop. But a bigger part of her wants that soft affection focused on her, especially after today. 

 

It’s not fair to him, she realizes, her heart sinking. Despite whatever twinges of feeling she might have toward Alex, her heart’s not actually available. It’s not like they have any kind of a future together. She shouldn’t be doing this, letting him do this, letting herself let him do it. But she wants it. She  _ needs _ it and she’s so damn weak right now, and tired, and just… And she’s been clear with him about the terms of their so-called-relationship. He knows where she stands, and he’s still being expressive with her anyhow. 

 

So she doesn’t stop him. 

 

Jules closes her eyes, sinking into his embrace.

 

_ God _ , does it feel incredible. It’s different from the sensation of his hands on her skin or the touch of his lips, which is almost comical considering what drove her here in the first place. The moment’s charged in a way that’s not sexual in the least and she finds herself wanting this more. She’s missed this, just  _ being _ with someone, that sense of connection and closeness, of being cared for. That’s not the sort of thing someone finds in a one-night-stand and she surely hasn’t had that sense of being cherished since Jackson. It soothes her, fills in a missing piece she hadn’t let herself think about in years.

 

“It’s good he’s getting close,” Alex finally says. “Your boy deserves justice. And you deserve to know it’s over. But I’m gonna worry ‘til this jackass is behind bars.”

 

His words are surprising. Jules pulls back to look at him. “You’re worried about Jackson getting justice?”

 

Alex scoffs. “Hell yes I am.”

 

“But…” She pauses, wrinkling her nose up in thought. “You like me.”

 

Amusement tugs at his lips. “Yes. I do.”

 

“No, I mean you  _ like _ me.”

 

“Yeah,” Alex agrees again. “I do.”

 

“If Jackson had lived, I’d still be with him,” Jules points out. “I’d have married him by now.”

 

“I’m sorry that you never had the chance,” he tells her and the softness in his voice is almost too much. “If that woulda made you happy, if that’s what you wanted, then I’m sorry you had that taken away from you.”

 

“But…” Jules shakes her head. “How are you not jealous?”

 

“That you love someone who was so selfless and so in love with you he gave his life to protect you? Or that someone knew how beautiful and amazing you are and made you feel special?” Alex asks. “I ain’t gonna be jealous of a dead man who had the sense to love you, Julianna. Your Jackson sounds like he was a good man. He made you happy and respected you. I’m glad for that. I’m just sorry for how it ended.”

 

“Me too,” she says, staring at him. She feels like she’s seeing him for the first time. “You’re not what I expected. You know that?”

 

“What’d you expect?” he asks.

 

“I don’t know… Something less…” 

 

“Less what?”

 

“Less… everything,” she replies. 

 

That’s a bigger statement than she intends it to be, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true. He’s gentle and patient, stubborn and emotional, brave and vulnerable. These are all things she’s only seen glimpses of from him so far, but it’s so much more than she’d expected from the hunky firefighter she’d been interested in screwing around with at first sight.

 

Later, it will scare her how meaningful this moment is, but in the midst of it all she’s too swept away to care. There’s a soft vulnerability about her that she struggles to hide as she searches his face. He’s always so open with her, so genuine. 

 

Part of her wonders how he does it, how he wears so much of his heart on his sleeve when he knows full well that she’s not ready to do the same. It’s a different sort of bravery than rushing into a burning building or putting on a mask to save the city. It’s a kind of strength she used to have. 

 

But bravery is contagious and she feels the tiniest bit of it take root inside her, push her to act. 

 

Her grip on his shirt tightens and she locks eyes with him as she tugs him toward her a little. There’s a marked hesitation about her as she sucks in a breath and hovers with her lips just an inch or two from his. He licks his lips and his breathing speeds up - she can  _ feel _ it and it makes her head spin. He wants to kiss her, but he waits for her, gives her space to make her own decisions, whatever they may be. 

 

It’s his hesitation that has her closing the distance.

 

The kiss is soft, a gentle press of her lips to his that is absolutely earth-shattering. It’s rife with feeling she’s tried so hard to pretend she has no part in any of this. But she feels safe in his arms, cherished, and she needs that so very much.

 

It’s not fast, or hard, but it does have sensation raining through her. It’s a heated touch that lingers, lets them savor, and oh does she. Jules tightens her hold on his shirt as she works her lips against his, sighing in relief at how  _ right _ it feels. Her whole body curls into his warmth, the ice packs on her side falling to the floor. His arms close around her, so softly, cradling her in the security he brings, in the peace he exudes. She’s  _ safe _ … she  _ belongs _ here, and she wants more, so much it’s shocking.

 

When the kiss ends, none of the feeling that came with it does.

 

His arms are still wrapped around her, and she holds on to him, afraid to let him go, to lose this feeling.

 

“I’m glad you’re okay, Julianna,” he says. His lips brush over hers and she leans into him, oblivious of everything but his touch. “And I’m glad you’re taking your safety seriously, but if we’re gonna be here like this, you might wanna put your gun on the table instead.”

 

She blinks, furrowing her brow at him with a confused, “What?” before the words really register. 

 

He taps the gun she has tucked in the back of her jeans. She’d forgotten that was even there.

 

“Right,” Jules says, tugging the gun out of her waistband to place it on the table. She tosses her phone with it for good measure. 

 

“I’d ask if you know what you’re doing with that thing, but considering who your father is…” Alex’s voice trails off.

 

“My dad’s been training me in self defense since before I could walk,” Jules tells him. “I can shoot a gun. I can shoot an arrow. I can also take down a man twice my size in ten seconds flat and make sure he doesn’t get up again anytime soon.”

 

“That probably shouldn’t be quite as hot as it is,” Alex notes. 

 

Jules shakes her head in faux exasperation. “Men.” 

 

“I like a strong woman who stands up for herself,” he says. “Nothin’ hotter than that.”

 

She gives him a playful grin. “Well then, baby, I’m scorching.” 

 

“Damn straight, you are,” he agrees, his heated eyes dropping down to take all of her in. “But that don’t mean you don’t need a little help sometimes, too.”

 

Jules raises an eyebrow at the shift in his tone, not sure where he’s headed. “Help with what, exactly?”

 

“Puttin’ on more of that ointment I  _ know _ they gave you at the hospital,” Alex replies, raising both eyebrows and fixing her with a look.

 

She bites her lip to keep from smiling. “You wanna play doctor with me?” Jules asks.

 

Alex rolls his eyes. “Just gimme the ointment and lose the shirt.”

 

It’s as much curiosity about how he’ll handle this as it is the desire to feel his hands against her skin that prompts her to reach for her purse and pull out the tube of stuff they’d given her in the emergency room. She drops it in his hand before sitting up, gingerly pulling her shirt over her head, and tossing it on the floor. 

 

She expects him either to leer a bit - she isn’t wearing a bra, after all - or recoil at the sight of her injuries. But this is Alex and he does neither. 

 

“Ay chica, that’s gotta hurt,” he says, wincing at the violent strip of road rash running up her side before looking at her. “I’ll be as gentle as I can, okay?”

 

She scoffs. “I’ve heard that before.”

 

“Not with me,” he reminds her as he squeezes some of the ointment onto his hand. He says it with such quiet honesty that it has her shutting up. 

 

In truth, he really is very gentle. His touch is tentative but purposeful. And, after the initial sting, it actually feels pretty good. Better than pretty good, actually. Jules’ eyes slip shut, a quiet moan falling from her lips as he spreads the cooling ointment over her abraded skin. It’s soothing, like everything else about him, and she’s a little sad when he’s done. 

 

“How’s your hip?” he asks, his voice a little rougher. “Your leg?”

 

“Bruised,” she replies, sounding just as affected. Jules swallows around the lump in her throat before adding, “But the scraping isn’t as bad. It’s probably okay.”

 

“Alright.” He wipes his hand, nodding to her wounds. “You oughta keep fabric off that for a bit. Let it breathe.”

 

“You just want me to stay shirtless,” she accuses with a thin smile. 

 

“I ain’t objecting,” he says. “But I’m also reading the directions on this bottle of ointment, so it’s not just an appreciation of the view that’s got me sayin’ that.”

 

“Okay. But would it be alright if…”

 

Her voice trails off as she rethinks her words. He’s been incredible so far, exactly what she’s needed, and muddying the waters more seems like a terrible idea. But she knows what she wants right now, even if she doesn’t want to think too deeply about it. 

 

And he’s not about to let it go.

 

“Would it be alright if what?” he asks. 

 

“If we went back to before?” 

 

“Before?” 

 

“Yeah,” she breathes out.

 

She can’t read the look on his face - or she doesn’t want to - as he clarifies, “Before when you were leaning on me?” 

 

A nervous trill flutters around her heart. “Yeah,” Jules says, a little too quick. She drops her gaze, not able to look at him as she continues. “I just felt like I could actually relax, like I could breathe easier… I, uh… I liked that.”

 

“I liked it, too,” Alex replies. He runs a hand down her most-uninjured arm, pulling her attention to him. When she looks up, his lips quirk in a quiet smile. “C’mere.”

 

He leans back against the sofa and pulls her gently to him. She goes easily, resting her head on his chest, resettling her hand against his shirt. He’s warm, and she curls into him. She doesn’t give a second thought to the fact that she’s half-naked, or that she’s pressed against him. The sense of comfort and home that suffuses her being when wrap his arms around her again leaves her head spinning, but in a good way. 

 

Jules burrows into his embrace with a content sigh.

 

She doesn’t remember falling asleep. But later she will remember it was the best rest she’s had in years.


	14. Chapter 14

 

She doesn’t dream. 

 

At least not in any kind of coherent way. There is a sense of warmth and comfort, of security and affection that surrounds her as she sleeps, but it’s intangible and ill-defined. It just  _ is _ . And, for once, she’s happy to accept that feeling for precisely what it offers. 

 

While she’s asleep, anyhow. 

 

It’s a little after one in the morning when she’s woken suddenly by ringing. It takes her a minute to realize that the ringing is coming from her phone and a full minute after that to remember where she is. Her pillow is breathing. That’s probably her first clue. Her second clue is that her pillow groans.

 

“Sorry,” Jules mumbles, pushing off Alex’s chest for leverage as she fumbles for her phone on the table. 

 

“S’okay,” he answers, voice gritty with sleep. 

 

Warmth coils deep inside her at the sound, because dear God is it  _ attractive _ . Her sleep-addled brain isn’t quite sure how to deal with it, not with fog filling her brain, and she’s even less equipped for how to deal with his barely-awake bedhead and rumpled clothes. Her body doesn’t need her mind on board to react, though. The urge to chuck her phone across the room and pin him back down to the sofa has her fingers itching.

 

That impulse dies when she sees who’s calling her. 

 

Oh  _ damn _ .

 

“Hey, Mom,” she greets, the words dissolving in a jaw-popping yawn. 

 

“Oh thank goodness,” her mom breathes out. “I know you said you’d be home late, but Ellie told us you were going to stay at the house tonight and we hadn’t heard anything from you, so I was getting worried.”

 

“M’fine,” she says, rubbing at her eyes. “Sorry for worrying you. I was hanging out with a friend and fell asleep on the sofa.”

 

“That’s fine,” her mom assures her. “I just needed to know you were okay after everything that happened.”

 

“I’m safe here, Mom. I promise,” Jules vows. “Did the dog sitter drop Bokeh off?”

 

“She did,” Felicity replies. “Your dad’s at the hospital with Nate still, but he’s doing fine. They’ll release him in the morning. I’m heading back with a change of clothes in a few minutes. Will and Ellie are staying here. They’re working with Sara and Eric in the basement trying to sift through new clues.”

 

“Damn it,” Jules whispers, dragging a hand through her hair. “I should be there, too.” 

 

“Everything okay?” Alex rumbles. 

 

Jules moves to cover the mouthpiece of her phone but she isn’t fast enough. 

 

“Was that a boy?” her mother asks with  _ way _ too much interest.

 

“Yes. My friend is a boy,” she answers before shooting Alex a warning glance and mouthing,  _ ‘Everything’s fine.’ _

 

“Jules… do you have a boyfriend?” her mom pokes. 

 

“No, Mom,” she protests with a sigh. She’s suddenly vividly aware that she’s missing a shirt and she reaches down to where she’d dropped it earlier. She misses Alex’s look as she slips it on with a grimace, adding, “I do not have a boyfriend. I have a boy who is a friend.”

 

“Sure you do,” her mother says, as if she knows something she definitely does not. “That’s fine, honey. You can tell me whenever you’re ready.”

 

“Mom,” she whines. She sounds sixteen again, which is just fine because that’s how her mother’s making her feel at the moment. Of course, then she catches the disbelieving look on Alex’s face and she reins her reaction in. 

 

“I’m just saying!” her mom replies. Jules can practically see her putting her hands up to try and prove she’s being non-confrontational.  _ Liar _ . “If you find a boy you’d like to bring home, I would be more than happy to meet him.”

 

Jules closes her eyes. “Thank you for being supportive. I guess. But this isn’t that, okay?” With a sigh, she stands as she adds, “I should get home and help-”

 

Her own words cut out with a sharp cry as all of yesterday’s bruises and injuries make their presence known in full force. Alex is at her side in the blink of an eye, supporting her with an arm around her waist and a gentle hold on her elbow. 

 

“You’re okay,” he tells her. “Sit back down. You’re doin’ too much.”

 

She listens, mostly because anything else feels impossible right now. It takes a second to realize the dull buzzing she hears past the rush of blood in her ears is her mother’s panicked voice. She tries to speak, but the shock of pain has stolen her voice. Jules hands the phone to Alex and focuses on not throwing up or passing out. 

 

“Mrs. Queen?” he asks into the phone. Her mother’s voice falls silent. “She’s fine, just pushin’ herself too much. She’s hurting a bit from everything that happened yesterday.”

 

Even with the phone pressed to Alex’s ear instead of hers, Jules can hear her mother’s, “She  _ told _ you?”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies. 

 

Jules pictures her mother’s face at being called ‘ma’am’ and lets out a strained laugh. She mostly tunes out though as the two of them discuss heat versus ice and when she last had Advil. When she can finally take a breath without wanting to groan, she waves at Alex with a, “Okay, if you’re gonna talk to my mother at least put her on speakerphone.”

 

“You’re the one who handed me your cell, chica,” he points out before doing as she says and holding the phone out between them. 

 

“Sorry, Mom,” she apologizes. “I just took things too fast. I promise I’m taking care of myself.”

 

“You got another hour before you can take more Advil,” Alex says before Felicity can respond. “And you should put the ice back on after I help you with more ointment.” 

 

“Sounds like you aren’t the only one,” her mother says. 

 

Yeah, there’s no way she’s letting this go anytime soon. 

 

“I can take more Advil when I get to the brownstone,” Jules says. “I need to get back.”

 

“No way I’m letting you drive home like this,” Alex interjects. 

 

Jules’ eyebrows shoot up. “You aren’t  _ letting _ me?” 

 

“Oh Jules,” her mother breathes out. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. He just wants you safe.”

 

Jules’ eyes widen, and her cheeks warm despite herself. “Mom, we really need to work on your figures of speech.”

 

“She ain’t wrong, though,” Alex says, ignoring her mother’s miniature verbal gaff. “I’m not lookin’ to control you, Julianna. I just don’t wanna see you hurt more.”

 

“I’ll use the self-drive function,” she retorts. “It’s not like I have to do much.”

 

Alex doesn’t waver an inch. “If you decide you’ve gotta go, I’ll drive you home.”

 

“And then what? My sister’s car is here and you’re stuck at my parents’ house?”

 

“He’s welcome here,” her mom chimes in, because of course she does.

 

“Mom,” Jules groans. 

 

“I’m just being friendly, Julianna,” Felicity counters. “We have a guest room, if he needs it. Your  _ friend _ is welcome to get some sleep before Ellie drives him back home and gets her car.”

 

Jules laughs and it sounds as awkward as it feels. “Yeah, that is not gonna happen.”

 

“Why not?” her mother asks.

 

“Well, for starters, Will’s there,” Jules replies.

 

“Don’t be silly, Jules,” her mother says. “Your brother is a grown man and he knows you’re an adult. If he takes issue with you having a male friend, you can send him to me.”

 

“It’s not that.” Jules sighs. “I just…”

 

“Julianna,” Alex says, giving her a look. 

 

“Alex, I-”

 

“ _ Alex _ ?” her mom interrupts. Well… shit. “ _ Alex  _ Alex? Will’s friend Alex?”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Alex replies. 

 

The line goes very quiet for a moment and Jules buries her face in her hands, bracing herself for whatever her mom is going to say next. 

 

“Jules…” Felicity finally says. “Honey, what are you doing?” 

 

“Nothing,” Jules bites out. “I’m doing nothing. I can’t be friends with one of Will’s friends?”

 

“While hiding it from your brother?” her mother replies. “No. That’s not nothing. That’s asking for trouble.”

 

“It is one in the morning,” Jules groans, shaking her head, “and I am so completely not equipped for this conversation right now.” 

 

“Then don’t have it now,” Alex says. “Stay here with me until morning and we’ll see how you are then. Stop being so stubborn for one night and lemme take care of you.”

 

“Alex-”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jules,” her mom chimes in. “Let this very nice, handsome, caring friend of yours take care of you. And you can thank him by bringing him to dinner tomorrow night.”

 

“Oh my God,” Jules says. 

 

“You don’t gotta thank me, Julianna,” Alex says, knowing exactly what has the hair on the back of her neck rising along with the panic in her chest. “You know that’s not what this is about. And I ain’t pushing you for anything, okay? Just your safety. I’ll feel better if you stay.”

 

“It’ll be hours before our searches finish, Jules,” Felicity says. “There’s nothing for you to do here. And it is super weird being able to say that with someone else on the line.”

 

“Okay,” Jules says and the second she does, the line holding her shoulders straight collapses. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

 

“Thank you,” Alex says, taking her hand and pressing his lips to her inner wrist. Her heart skips a beat and she bites her lip as her mouth curves into a small smile. Her heart flutters even more when he smiles back.

 

“Did he just kiss you?” her mother asks. “Did I hear kissing?”

 

“Oh my God,” Jules whispers before saying in place of a reply, “I’m hanging up now, Mom.”

 

“We’re talking about this later, Jules,” her mother informs her. 

 

“Oh, I have no doubt about that,” Jules replies. “Get some rest, Mom. Tell Nate I love him, okay?” 

 

“You’ve got it,” her mother says. “I love you, too, honey. Try and get  _ some _ sleep at your friend’s place, okay? Because of the pain, I mean. Nothing else. There’s no other reason you might not be sleeping. I mean, maybe there is - I wouldn’t judge - but I’m not trying to imply-”

 

“Goodnight, Mom!” Jules interrupts. 

 

“Right,” her mother says. “Goodnight.”

 

Jules isn’t quite sure she’s ever been so glad to hang up from a phone call before. She exhales heavily and stares at the blank screen of her phone in Alex’s hand for a moment before looking up to find him staring at her with an affectionate half smile, eyes crinkling. 

 

“What?” she asks. 

 

“You’re beautiful,” he says. 

 

“It’s one in the morning,” she points out. “I’m a walking bruise with messy hair and I haven’t even brushed my teeth.”

 

“I know,” he confirms.

 

“You’re crazy,” she tells him. 

 

“Maybe a little.”

 

She laughs, looking back down to her knees. After a moment she glances back up at him. “Well… maybe I’m a little crazy, too.”

 

“Yeah?” he asks. 

 

“Yeah.” She nods. “That half-awake gravelly voice thing you’ve got going on is… It’s nice. It’s very nice. And you wear bedhead quite well.”

 

Alex raises an eyebrow. “My voice, huh?” 

 

Jules bites the edge of her lip. “Mhm.”

 

“Careful, chica,” he tells her. “Say things like that and I might keep you up all night talkin’ to you, just to see how you react.”

 

“Just talking?” she asks with a coy smile.

 

He sighs, a long-suffering sound as he stares at her before he grunts, half in agreement and half in warning. She watches him, waiting to see what he’s going to do… but then he stands and offers her a hand up. Jules gives him a quizzical look but takes his offer, letting him help her. It’s definitely easier to stand when she’s slow and cautious. There’s still a steady, throbbing pain that makes her hiss, but it’s manageable. 

 

“I think I got an extra toothbrush you can have,” Alex says. “I’ll show you where the bedroom is and grab myself some blankets for the sofa.”

 

“Wait, what?” she asks.

 

“No way I’m letting you sleep on my sofa,” he tells her. “Not on purpose. And I only got the one bed.”

 

“But I…” Jules starts before furrowing her brow and pulling back. She licks her lips, trying to think, but her bottom one is still puffy from yesterday and the sudden tug on it  _ hurts _ . Alex’s eyes drop to her mouth. It’s so fast she barely catches it, but it’s enough to give her the confidence to say, “I don’t want you to sleep on the sofa.”

 

“‘Cause you don’t like kickin’ me out of my bed or…?” 

 

“No,” she says. She drags the word out, suddenly feeling like she’s crossing a line she won’t be able to go back from, a line that’s quickly blurring. It doesn’t stop her. “Because I like being with you. It was nice earlier.”

 

It’s harder to get the words out than she’d expected and a sudden burst of anxiety nearly has her running. Why is this making her so uneasy? She’s been propositioning him since basically the moment they met and  _ now _ she’s shy about sharing a bed with him? Maybe it’s because it’s purposeful. Maybe it’s because it’s about closeness rather than just sex. Maybe it’s because this is infinitely more intimate. 

 

“It was,” Alex says, his voice pitched, going lower, making her shiver. “It was more than nice. Holding you in my arms while you sleep is a hell of a drug, Julianna.”

 

“Well, don’t get hooked,” Jules says. “This is a one-time thing.”

 

“Sure it is.”

 

“It  _ is _ ,” she insists. 

 

“Let’s just enjoy tonight, huh?” he asks, taking her hand in his much larger one. “We’ll worry about later…  _ later _ .”

 

That’s an agreement she can make. Jules nods with a soft, “Okay,” before pocketing her phone and stowing her gun back in her waistband. She doesn’t miss that he grabs the ointment before he tugs on her hand, leading her back through his house toward the bedroom. 

 

His home isn’t big, but it’s nice, comfortable in a lived-in way. They pass by a bedroom that he’s made into a workout space and a hall bathroom before reaching his master suite. Her first impression of the space is that it suits him. It’s masculine without being cold, filled without being cluttered. For a bachelor who hadn’t known he’d have company, it’s surprisingly neat. 

 

“This is nice,” Jules says. “I really like your house.”

 

“Gracias.” He pauses in the doorway, leaning against the jamb with a smile. “Me too. I grew up around the corner. My mother still lives there and I wanted to be close to her. Plus, this is close to work.”

 

“I have a studio apartment,” she says, walking over to his bed, running her fingers along the comforter. “But it’s just a place I live. I don’t think it’s ever felt like a home.”

 

His eyes burn into her. “And this does?” 

 

“Yeah,” she agrees, looking back at him. “I can see you in every part of it. So… Yes, it feels like a home.”

 

“That’s a hell of a compliment.”

 

Jules shrugs. “Well, you earned it.”

 

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he just watches her and she waits for him to speak.

 

Alex finally tilts his head to the side, to a doorway she’d passed. “Bathroom’s here,” he says. “I’ll go grab you a toothbrush.”

 

“Thanks,” she says as he heads back out of the room. 

Jules steps into the bathroom, poking around a bit before he gets back. It’s bigger than she’d expected, given the overall size of the house. So’s his room, for that matter. But the bathroom is large enough to have double sinks as well as a separate shower and tub.

 

“I’ve got some epsom salts somewhere,” he says from the doorway, pulling her attention back to him. “Might feel good with those bruises and help with the stiffness if you soaked for a bit.”

 

The thought of soaking in his bathtub with him in the other room sends a thrill down her spine. She glances at the tub, imagining not only her in there, but him, too. God, if he looks so damn sexy dry, what would he look like  _ wet _ ? Heat tugs at her core. The only problem is that she’s still really damn tired, and sore, and she’d probably fall asleep on him again instead of getting to enjoy everything that goes with a wet Alex.

 

Maybe that could be part of the later he mentioned earlier.

 

With a start, Jules shakes herself out of her musings, her chest tightening at the prospect of later. 

 

At  _ planning _ a later.

 

“Maybe in the morning,” she replies.

 

Alex nods and hands her a fresh toothbrush. 

 

They stand side-by-side at the sinks as they get ready for bed. The domesticity of it has her chest tightening even more, but she shoves it away, trying to focus on getting from one moment to the next. This is just an anomaly, a necessity borne of circumstance. It’s not like this will ever happen again. She’s not  _ living  _ with him or in an actual relationship. They’re just… friends. Who are currently sharing a bathroom and about to sleep next to each other. That’s all. 

 

She repeats that to herself, not letting herself look at him where he finishes up with mouthwash.

 

“You, uh…” Alex starts. Jules looks up from where she’s rinsing her toothbrush to see him tapping his fingers against his thighs. Like he’s nervous. “You wanna borrow something else to sleep in, you can use whatever you like.” He tilts his head back out the bathroom door. “Closet’s yours.”

 

“Oh.” Her heart jumps. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll wash my makeup off and then have a look.”

 

“Okay,” he agrees. He smiles and it matches the nervous staccato of his fingers before he heads back out into his bedroom. She tries very hard not to think about that, or about the hum of her heart, or the way her breath comes out in a shaky sigh. Instead she focuses on scrubbing her face clean before leaving the bathroom. 

 

She avoids looking at him as she heads into his walk-in closet. She turns on the light, wondering if the burn in the center of her back is her imagination or his eyes on her. Either way she doesn’t look back, stepping in further. It’s far from full, but that doesn’t make sifting through his stuff any less strange. Even with his permission it feels like too much and she kind of wants it over with as quickly as possible. She glances over dress shirts and a few sports tees before grabbing a simple undershirt. 

 

Changing is a whole new level of anxiety she didn’t even know she was capable of. 

 

Jules huffs. “Get it together,” she whispers to herself before quickly shedding her clothes. Her words do nothing to make it easier, especially when she sets her phone and the gun on his hamper. That makes her pause before she rolls her eyes. “One night. This doesn’t mean anything. C’mon, Jules.”

 

She doesn’t let herself think anymore, walking out in his bedroom. He’s sitting on his bed, already changed in a pair of flannel bottoms and a t-shirt that matches hers. A small anxious spike wedges itself in her gut when she realizes she’s barefoot and bare-faced, her hair down, wearing nothing but his shirt and a pair of panties.

 

_ Oh boy _ .

 

But it disappears when he looks up from where’s fiddling with his phone and freezes. He goes slack-jawed as he stares at her with the most intense look of awed longing she can remember seeing in ages.

 

“Dios mio, woman,” Alex breathes out. “That’s a hell of a look, Julianna.”

 

Her cheeks flush despite herself. “Yeah?” she asks, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt where it stops mid-thigh. 

 

“Hell yes,” he replies and his definitive answer has her confidence surging. He takes her in before his eyes find hers. “How am I gonna keep my hands off you?”

 

“Maybe I don’t want you to,” she whispers, and it’s only when she’s looking back at this night that she’ll realize how brutally honest those few words are.

 

He just grunts in reply and crooks a finger at her. A surge of defiance flares inside her at the command. But one look at this face tells her which one of them is in control right now. 

 

Especially when she saunters over. 

 

Alex’s lips fall open with a breathy, “Damn,” a soft flush coloring his cheeks as she plants herself between his legs. Her hands find his shoulders and she drags her fingers over his collarbone, reveling in his shiver.

 

With a whisper of her name, his hands find her hips, his eyes hungry as he takes her in. She expects him to slip them underneath the shirt, maybe under her panties, but he doesn’t. Instead he smooths them up her hips, keeping his touch featherlight because of her wounds. He doesn’t stop, one hand reaching behind her to fist the loose material, pulling it tight so it looks more like she’s wearing a very thin, very tight dress.

 

It hides nothing and his moan of appreciation as he soaks her in tells her everything she needs to know about how she’s affecting him. 

 

“Maybe I shouldn’t’ve offered you a shirt, Julianna,” he says, giving her a dangerous look that has a heated shudder falling down her spine.

 

“You want it back?” she offers.

 

“Don’t tempt me,” he replies.

 

Jules scrapes her nails across the nape of his neck before slipping them up into his hair, earning a low growl from him. “I wanna tempt you,” she says.

 

“Ain’t like it’s hard for you,” he replies, twisting the fabric in his hand. It pulls taut across her breasts and the rosy hue of her hardening nipples are visible through the thin white shirt. He groans and presses his face into her chest. “You’re always so fucking tempting, Julianna.”

 

And yet he’s still more restrained than she’d like. 

 

She wants him. She wants to be completely ravaged and left hoarse from screaming his name. She wants it all and here he is nuzzling her breast through a shirt like it’s all he’s going to allow himself to do. 

 

“Please?” she whispers, raking her fingers through his hair. She knows what it does to him and she’s rewarded for that knowledge when he tightens his hold on her. “Please? It’s not sleep I want right now, it’s you. I want your hands on my body…” She makes a fist in his hair, earning a shudder before sliding her other hand down his neck. He’s going to cave, and they both know it, but that doesn’t stop her from cradling him against her as she presses her face against the crown of his head with a heated, “Your mouth on my skin… I want you to taste me, Alex. I want your head between my thighs while I cry out your name…”

 

Jules moans, a needy sound that tells both of them just how much she wants it, too. Heat pools between her thighs, a tingle of want sparking right where she knows he’s going to put his tongue on her. As if they’re connected by a direct line, her nipples harden even more, tightening into little buds of an anticipation that’s been humming deep inside since the second he said he wanted to taste her.

 

She’d denied him that last time and she doesn’t think she could right now even if she wanted to.

 

“Please,” she gasps, pressing closer, seeking that delicious friction that only he can give her right now. “ _ Alex. _ ”

 

She knows the instant he cracks. His restraint bleeds away and with a breathy plea of his own he wraps his lips around her nipple through the shirt. Her head falls back, her grip on his hair tightening hard enough that he pulls more of her breast into his mouth, his teeth finding the hard little bud. Jules gives a desperate little cry and shoves both her hands into his hair. 

 

“Love the noises you make,” Alex breathes out against her breast before sucking hard. His hands slide down her back and grips the backs of her thighs, tugging her until she crawls on top of him, straddling his lap. His desire for her is apparent, straining in his jeans and she grinds down on him. The strangled sound he makes is so damn hot, and she wants to hear more. He’s on the same mission. Alex slides a hand up her back again, to the nape of her neck, his fingers weaving through her long hair as he kisses his way up her chest. When he reaches her collarbone, he licks a hot trail over it, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot with a ragged, “Julianna.”

 

A shiver wracks her body at the pure  _ need _ in his voice. It’s echoed by the way he holds her, and yet, even driven to near-mindless heights of want, he’s so careful with her. He avoids the bruises and the marred strip of skin up her side. And he does it all without a word, without changing the tenor of the moment with concern. 

 

He trusts her to tell him if something’s wrong and he trusts himself enough to read her body. 

 

And  _ wow _ , can he read her body. He explores every inch of her that he can reach, taking his time as he licks and sucks his way up the column of her neck, seeing what makes her gasp or what has her nails digging into his scalp. He slips his fingers deeper into her hair, his other hand slipping under the band of her panties, gripping her ass. It’s a full on assault of all her senses and she falls into it completely.

 

It’s a heady feeling being able to surrender to his touch.

 

Even more so that she  _ wants _ to.

 

A flutter of nerves whispers in the back of her mind, but before her thoughts can run away on her, Alex’s grip on her tightens. And then he’s up, flipping them so she’s flat on her back on the bed with him hovering over her. He doesn’t give her a chance to respond before one of his hands slips underneath the shirt, running up the center of her belly.

 

“Oh,” Jules breathes, arching her back upwards to meet his touch. 

 

His eyes are pure liquid heat as he watches her, his fingers whispering a sinful trail up between her breasts, rucking up the fabric as he goes. She’s bruised to hell and she knows at least half of her body looks like it went through a meat grinder, but the way his eyes drift down over her body… He sees  _ her _ , parts of her that she doesn’t even realize she’s letting him see, and he likes it. A lot. So much is happening, so fast but somehow so slow at the same time, and it leaves her head swimming and heart pounding way too fast, her breaths becoming shallow, coming on too fast. It might be overwhelming, except that the only thing that makes her feel better right now is his touch, the way he looks at her, the way he makes her feel.

 

When he reaches high enough that the fabric inches over the top of her breasts, catching briefly on her peaked nipples before passing them, his pupils are so dilated that hie eyes might as well be black.

 

“I want you naked,” he says. “Not my shirt. Not these fucking tease of a pair of panties. Nothing.” 

 

Jules grins and runs her tongue along her teeth as she sits up just enough to tug the shirt over her head. Alex moves with her, his hand sliding down to her side to help her in case her bruises are too much. They aren’t - she barely feels them - as she drops the shirt somewhere. She only feels his large hand where it rests on her uninjured ribs. He’s so warm and  _ big _ . She licks her lips as she settles back against the bed, giving him a coy smile as she asks, “Think you can manage my panties on your own?” 

 

His reply is an aroused huff before he kisses her, hard. It’s more like that first kiss in the kitchen. He’s all determination and passion, the sort that could sweep a girl right off her feet if she wasn’t careful. 

 

And she’s not worried about being careful, not right now. She doesn’t worry about her heart or if she’ll feel guilty or what anything means. She doesn’t worry about anything. 

 

She just  _ feels _ and it’s incredible. 

 

Jules kisses him back with equal ardor, needing him to know she wants him just as much, just as bad. 

 

The kiss leaves her breathless and worn, her bruised lip stinging, but she barely has time to think about the pain because he pulls his mouth away from hers, working a path down her body. He nips and sucks at her skin as he goes, scraping his teeth over her collarbone again, earning a drawn out a moan from her. He drags his lips down the middle of her chest, his stubble scraping over her nipple before he soothes it with a soft kiss that she feels between her legs. 

 

“Yes,” she whispers, nodding, needing more, and he doesn’t disappoint. 

 

Alex sucks at the underside of her breast, hard enough to make her shudder and cry out, gripping his hair in tight fists as she arches her back. There’s an ache in her side, but it doesn’t register through the pleasurable fog he’s pulling her into. No, she’s much more concerned about the fact that there’s definitely going to be another bruise on her body tomorrow and that she will so not be complaining about this one. 

 

He doesn’t linger there long, though, instead venturing across the soft skin of her belly to nip at her hip bone just above her panties. Her whole body buzzes with need. 

 

With a loud groan, Alex turns his face to the side, his scruff scraping against the flesh of her lower belly. 

 

“I can smell you from here, chica,” he tells her and oh, if she wasn’t already turned on,  _ that _ would have had her melting right here and now. “You got any idea how amazing that is? How much that makes my mouth water?” 

 

“No,” she whispers, shooting him an impish smile. “But I’m really looking forward to finding out.”

 

He chuckles and presses a kiss right below her belly button before he hooks his fingers in her panties and starts dragging them down her legs.  He doesn’t watch them go, doesn’t seem to care in the least where he tosses them. He’s too fixed on the sight of her sex newly revealed to him for the first time. 

 

In spite of this being a new thing between them and in spite of it having been quite some time since Jules was laid bare in front of anyone, she’s not nervous. No, it’s all anticipation, a craving that overtakes everything else. 

 

But she doesn’t have to wait for long. There is no hesitance in Alex, no moment where he pauses and reconsiders. She’s splayed out right in front of him and it’s clear that this is exactly what he wants. 

 

He tugs one of her thighs over his shoulder and pins her hips down. Jules makes a noise of disapproval, instinctively straining against his hold, but he keeps her still. That doesn’t stop her from twisting his comforter into tight fists as she tries to angle her sex toward him, aching desperately to be touched. He isn’t fazed in the least. He makes the need buzzing through her worse when he parts her folds with his other hand as he licks his lips with a low moan. 

 

Oh  _ God. _

 

“Alex,” she whines, shoving one hand into his hair, gripping it tight, trying to tug him closer. All it does is have him looking up at her with a heated gaze that makes her gasp.

 

His eyes never leaving hers, he says, “I’m gonna enjoy this,” before leaning in and swiping his tongue up the length of her sensitive folds. 

 

Jules’ back bows with a sharp cry. He does it again, tasting her, and her next cry is more like a strangled whimper. It’s been so long since she had this, since someone touched her like this. She’d actually forgotten how much she loves it, how incredible the slick, firm press of a man’s tongue to her most intimate area can make her body sing and her mind go blank. 

 

“Shhh,” Alex soothes, the heat of his breath ghosting across her skin. He pauses to press a soft kiss to her clit before looking up at her. “We’re just getting started, Chula.”

 

The promise in his voice has her falling back with a noise she can’t even begin to describe.

 

He knows what he’s doing, knows what will push any warm-blooded woman to the edge of oblivion, but it’s also  _ different _ . He takes his time with her, settling in like he’s going to stay there for hours. God, that’s an intense thing to think about, but in reality it’s  _ torturous _ and it has Jules quaking until she can’t stand it. He works her up and eases her back down again and again, building her a little higher every time. He  _ listens _ , paying attention to her body as well as her words and the nonsensical noises she eventually dissolves into.

 

When she cries out, “ _ There _ . Right there,” or, “Fuck, Alex. Harder, please? Please, please, please,” he clearly takes note and uses that knowledge to both of their advantages. 

 

It’s only when she starts to beg in a hoarse voice for him to let her come that he finally pushes her over. She expects a reprieve, even a tiny one, but he doesn’t give it to her. He concentrates on her clit, rubbing it with the tip of his tongue as he he pumps two fingers inside of her, his eyes fixed on her face with an intensity that only makes her every nerve ending light up with pleasure.

 

She can’t take her eyes off him, as much as he doesn’t want to lose sight of her. Jules buries her hands in his hair, curling closer to him with ragged sobs of, “Oh God… Oh  _ God _ , Alex,” as she thrusts against his face.

 

Then he fucking  _ hums. _

 

Jules screams. Her voice goes raw as a sheet of white skates over her vision, her heels scrambling for purchase against the bed.

 

It takes her a few seconds to come back to the world. A low buzz fills her ears, a startling contrast to her racing heart. God, she can feel it through her entire body, making every inch of her throb with residual pleasure. When her breathing finally starts to even out, her eyes drift open. She stares at the ceiling, not really seeing it, not until she feels Alex’s stubbled chin rest on her hip.

 

Jules looks down to find him staring at her, his eyes dark with satisfaction and a hint of awe.

 

“If you didn’t want me to get addicted to this, Julianna,” he whispers, “you really shouldn’t have been screamin’ my name like that.”

 

She blinks, not hearing a word he just said. “What?”

 

“Nothing, mi pequeña reina,” he says, crawling up to her side. He kisses her temple and she closes her eyes, leaning into his lips. “Nothing. How is your side?”

 

Jules hums, stretching. She barely feels a twinge and she’s one hundred certain that’s because her bones currently have the consistency of spaghetti. “‘S okay,” she replies, turning to look at it. The road rash is red and irritated and it looks like absolute hell in its bed of bruised flesh. It’s already a mixture of black and green that doesn’t look good. Jules makes a face. “Ouch,” she adds, but there isn’t any pain in her voice.

 

“Lay back,” Alex instructs, leaning back to the nightstand where he’d left the ointment. 

 

The endorphin high has worn off enough for her to scowl at him, but she does as he says, pulling her arm up over her head. It stretches the wound and for the first time in hours she finally feels it. Her next, “Ouch,” is more genuine.

 

“Easy,” he says, smoothing ointment on her side. “I’ve got you.” And he does. It feels good, very good, and Jules relaxes into the mattress with a sigh. He is efficient, but thorough, and by the time he’s done she’s ready for him to lay back down with her. Alex sets the ointment back down before kissing her temple again. “Get some rest.”

 

Wait. What?

 

“But…” Jules protests, reaching for his arm. Words are finally starting to come back to her. “You’ve gotta want…”

 

Alex laughs, a low, rich sound that reminds her of his tongue on her. “Oh, I do,” he replies. “I want very,  _ very _ much. But you ain’t ready for my terms. I know that.”

 

“Seriously?” she asks. “After that you’re just gonna sleep?”

 

“No, belleza,” he answers, kissing her brow. She catches a hint of her own scent on him and it makes her flush. “After that I’m gonna take a shower to calm myself down a bit. Then I’m gonna sleep with you in my arms.”

 

Jules frowns. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

 

“Not even a little.” He smiles before raising an eyebrow. “Unless you changed your mind and didn’t tell me.”

 

“No, I’m not…” Jules shifts, trying to make sense of the sudden swirl of emotions he just thrust her into. It’s hard to think about reality after what he just did to her. For her. Especially when he won’t let her return the favor.  “I’m not  _ dating _ you, Alex,” she finally finishes. “That’s not because of anything you did. Believe me, you are more than impressive so far. And sweet. And handsome. And thoughtful. And really fucking stubborn.”

 

Alex laughs. “Ah, see I was gettin’ a big head ‘til that last one.”

 

“I  _ like _ that last one,” she assures him. 

 

“Sleep,” he repeats, kissing her brow one more time before scooting off the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

 

Jules doesn’t want to sleep, though, not when he’s right here and the tenting of his pajama bottoms is so very prominent. She couldn’t pull her eyes away from him even if she wanted to. She wants him and she doesn’t bother hiding that as she tugs her lip between her teeth, thinking about all the things she could do with his arousal.

 

“Dios mio, woman,” he grumbles as he turns and heads toward the bathroom. “You don’t make this easy.”

 

She huffs, shouting, “I’m not trying to,” as the door shuts and the shower starts. 

 

Jules doesn’t bother trying to sleep, even though she’s fully sated and completely exhausted. No, she lies awake, listening to the rush of water, wondering if it’s cold or if he’s left it warm and has taken himself in hand instead. The thought has a new rush of warmth flooding her and she strains to listen, waiting for anything that will aid her fantasy. But she doesn’t hear anything, much to her chagrin.

 

When the water shuts off, she listens to him towel off, listens to various noises that she tries to identify before he opens the door. She closes her eyes, pretending to be asleep, and they stay shut as he heads back to the bed, easing into the side opposite her. 

 

“Buenas noches, Julianna,” he whispers, brushing her hair from her face. “Sleep well.”

 

She doesn’t open her eyes, but she does scoot closer, resting her head in the crook of his arm. He’s warm to begin with, but the heat in his skin is so soothing and she instantly relaxes against him. With a content hum, Jules pushes her face into his chest, delighting in the scratch of hair against her nose.

 

“Goodnight,” she murmurs. 

 

She is fast asleep before he replies, “There is no doubt about that at all,” before kissing her forehead. 

 

They sleep intertwined the entire night.


	15. Chapter 15

 

The next morning is incredibly weird, mostly because Alex acts like it isn’t. 

 

Jules wakes to the faint clatter of pans from across the small house. She doesn’t move for a second, furrowing her brow before sliding her arm out to his side of the bed. It’s empty. 

 

Because he’s making her breakfast.

 

Her stomach flips at the thought and she sits up a little too fast, wincing when her wound makes itself known. Sun peeks through the curtains, lighting the room in a warm glow. Her clothes aren’t in a ball in his closet, but are draped over a chair in the corner of the room. She doesn’t have to see her hair to know it’s a wild mess - both from sleeping and from writhing all over his bed when his mouth had been on her. Her cheeks warm - is she honestly  _ blushing _ ? - and she tugs the sheet up to cover her nakedness as she reaches for her phone. Her gun is sitting next to it; hadn’t she left that in his closet? Another clatter comes from the kitchen and she jumps as she snatches her phone off the nightstand.

 

There’s one text, from her mom a few hours ago: 

 

_ Sleep well? _

 

That is a loaded question, if ever there was one.

 

Jules tosses the phone onto the bed and climbs out, quickly tugging on yesterday’s clothes. It’s only after she dresses and catches a sight of herself in the mirror that she realizes the light stains of blood are gone from the side of her shirt. 

 

“What the…?”

 

She grabs the edge of her collar and sniffs. There’s no blood or gunpowder, no antiseptic hospital smell. There’s only the fresh scent of detergent. 

 

Jules holds her shirt out like it’s suddenly covered in fire ants. 

 

He  _ washed her clothes _ ?

 

Shaking her head, she pockets her phone and shoves her gun in the band of her jeans before heading to the bathroom. Who cares what he did. She needs to make her way back to her parents’ house to focus on tracking down the bastard who’d taken aim at her. Her mind is already running through a long list of things she wants to do when she spots her toothbrush. Jules freezes, staring at it like it’s a wild animal. 

 

Her toothbrush sits next to his in the toothbrush holder. 

 

Like it  _ belongs  _ there.

 

Her chest tightens and with a dark frown she yanks the toothbrush from the holder, scrubbing at her teeth before tossing the thing in the trash. She won’t be needing it again. 

 

This was a one-time thing. 

 

She doesn’t find a hairbrush - something that makes her absently wonder when the last time Alex had an overnight guest - so she makes do with a comb he left out before making a sloppy bun with the hair tie around her wrist. She doesn’t have makeup and she doesn’t need it. Not today. She’s not looking to impress anyone. 

 

That doesn’t stop her skin from practically glowing or her cheeks from having a rosy hue to them all on their own. Jules scowls at her reflection, but it does no good. A truly relaxing good night’s sleep and an incredible orgasm the night before has left her looking naturally refreshed.

 

Sticking her tongue out at herself in the mirror is probably the most childish thing she’s done in a while, but she’s annoyed and it does make her feel a little better. 

 

Taking a deep breath and steadying herself for the morning ahead, she leaves his bedroom and what happened there behind and wanders toward his kitchen. It’s not exactly a long walk, but she spends every step steeling herself for the conversation ahead and a quick exit.

 

But there’s no preparing for what she walks into.

 

He’s got music playing quietly, something in Spanish with a lively beat, and he’s dancing along in front of the stove with no shirt on and a spatula in hand. The muscles in his back moving in conjunction with the loose jeans that look like they were made for his ass specifically have her stopping dead in her tracks. She can’t help but stare, can’t help but shiver at the swath of heat that cuts through her, can’t help but wonder why she didn’t fight him harder last night so she can feel the real power behind those hips of his… 

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jules blurts. 

 

Alex jumps a little before looking back at her over his shoulder, his eyebrow up. “Cooking breakfast. What’s it look like?” he replies and then waves the spatula at the coffee maker next to him. “Coffee’s ready, if you like.”

 

“It’s late,” Jules says flatly, even as she eyes the coffee. “I should get going.”

 

“Cup of coffee and a bite to eat isn’t gonna kill you, Julianna,” he points out, turning back to the stove. “And that way you don’t have to stop anywhere. Mugs are above the coffee maker.”

 

She watches him warily, and if he feels her eyes on him, he ignores it. He’s no longer dancing, but he does sway every couple of beats, like he can’t help it, like it’s second nature. And those thoughts are exactly why she should really go.

 

But she does need coffee.

 

“Fine,” she bites out, stalking into the kitchen. 

 

The space isn’t huge and he keeps the mugs up high. Instead of asking for help, she curses under her breath and uses his shoulder for leverage to reach one. She catches a soft smile tugging at his lips from the corner of her eye, but she ignores it. Because it’s inconvenient. 

 

“Creamer?” she asks, ignoring the lingering warmth from touching him, forcing herself to concentrate on pouring herself a mugful of richly aromatic dark brew. 

 

“Fridge,” Alex replies and she moves around him, making sure to keep a good foot or two between them. “Grab the cotija while you’re in there, will you? This is about done.”

 

Jules stares into the fridge before blinking at him. “What the hell is cotija?” 

 

Alex laughs, that deep, rich sound that makes her stomach twist in a way that it should not be twisting. “Crumbly white cheese on the top shelf,” he replies. She just stares at him. Nothing is helped that it’s so obvious he isn’t laughing  _ at _ her, or that when he turns to look at her, his smile only grows as he asks, “How do you not know what cotija is?” 

 

She raises an eyebrow. “Do you know what hamantaschen is?” 

 

“Should I?” he asks. 

 

“Only if you know about Jewish food,” she replies, giving him a dismissive shrug. “I’m guessing I’d only know about cotija if I knew about Mexican food. Beyond the occasional plate of wannabe fajitas, anyhow.”

 

Surprise colors his face. “You’re Jewish?”

 

Jules pauses where she’s grabbing the creamer and cheese and looks at him. “Yes,” she replies and she doesn’t bother hiding the dangerous edge that lines her voice. “Why?”

 

“Just surprised, that’s all,” he tells her. “Will isn’t.”

 

“Will has a different mother,” Jules points out. “My mother is Jewish and so am I.” She grabs the items and drops them on the counter with a thud, closing the fridge a little too hard. “Is that a  _ problem _ for you?” 

 

“No,” Alex says. “No, I just didn’t know. That’s all. I’m not sure breakfast is kosher, though.”

 

Jules eyes what he’s making and shrugs. “Probably not. But neither am I, so…”

 

“Good,” he says with a relieved sigh before a slightly panicked look covers his face. “I mean that you can have breakfast, not about the kosher thing. That’s your business either way.”

 

“So glad you approve,” she says, pouring the creamer before taking a sip of the coffee. She has to fight back a pleased hum. It’s good. Like, really good. So he has good taste in coffee, so what? Rolling her eyes at herself, Jules leans against the counter. She’s going to drink this and then be on her way… Despite herself, though, the smell of the foods on the stovetop pulls her attention. The rich and spicy aroma invades her senses, making her mouth water. “What are you cooking?” she asks. 

 

“Huevos rancheros,” he tells her. “Wanna hand me a plate?”

 

“Sure,” she says, watching him with interest as she holds out one of the dishes he’d set out. 

 

It smells even better once it’s all put together. It looks a little like shakshuka, one of the few dishes her grandmother can actually cook well, but Jules bites her tongue before she can say it out loud.  She can just hear his response:  _ “Got more in common than you think, I guess.” _ She’s not ready for that conversation. She doesn’t think she ever will be. 

 

When he hands her the plate back, Jules gives him a short, “Thanks” and heads over to the table. 

 

Alex joins her a moment later with his own plate. She hasn’t touched hers yet and an amused smirk pulls at his lips before he nodding at her breakfast with a, “Dig in.”

 

He doesn’t wait for her to start first, taking a bite himself, and she follows suit.

 

Spicy flavor explodes across her tongue and she groans in pure delight.

 

“Oh my god,” Jules says, taking another bite. “Why is this so good?” 

 

The pride on Alex’s face is unmistakable. 

 

“Family recipe for the salsa,” he tells her. “And my mother makes tortillas from scratch. I’ll make sure she knows you appreciate it.”

 

Jules draws back with a warning look. Chatting about her with his  _ mother _ is definitely not the sort of relationship they’re engaging in.

 

“Speaking of mothers…” he says in the most horrifying segue she’s heard in awhile. “Yours called a bit ago.”

 

“No, she didn’t,” Jules says, pulling out her phone and taking a second glance at it. “I just got a text. That’s all.”

 

“No, she called me,” Alex corrects. 

 

Jules freezes with her fork halfway to her mouth before very slowly setting it back down.

 

“She  _ what _ ?” she asks.

 

“She was worried about you, Julianna,” Alex replies, like it’s nothing. “She figured you’d be home earlier, but she didn’t want to wake you if you were still asleep. Which you were. I promised her you were fine and we had a nice chat.”

 

Her eyes damn near bug out of her head. “You had a  _ nice chat _ ?” 

 

“You say this like it’s a bad thing,” he challenges, setting down his own fork as well.

 

“It is,” Jules snaps. “It is a bad thing because you are not my boyfriend, Alex. You and I are not on talk-to-each-other’s-mother terms. We’re nothing. Why don’t you get that?”

 

“I get it,” he bites back. “But you’re also full of shit and you know it.”

 

She’s so taken aback by his response that she just sits there blinking at him for a moment. People don’t  _ talk _ to her like this. Jackson would’ve fallen all over himself apologizing for overstepping his bounds and spent the whole day walking on eggshells trying to make it up to her. He would never… 

 

Horror washes through her. She just compared them. She compared Jackson to Alex like they’re on the same level when they aren’t. 

 

They  _ aren’t _ . 

 

Nausea coiling inside her, Jules shakes her head and shoves her chair back. She tosses her napkin onto the plate, not caring when it hits her fork, making it fall on the table with a messy clatter.

 

She doesn’t need his breakfast or his implications and she doesn’t owe him a goddamned thing. 

 

“No way,” Alex says, standing up, getting in her damned way. She glares at him, but he isn’t fazed in the least, moving so he’s toe-to-toe with her. “You wanna go? Fine. Leave. But you ain’t doing it with this notion that you an’ I are nothing but occasional bedmates.”

 

“That  _ is _ all we are,” Jules grits out, pushing past him. 

 

He doesn’t let her get far, though. Alex grabs her elbow, stopping her short. She looks down at where he holds her, where his fingers dig in, where his hand his fingers before her eyes slowly tick up to his face. How fucking dare he?

 

“Maybe that’s what you wanna tell yourself,” Alex says, meeting her gaze head-on, “but you didn’t come here lookin’ for sex last night, Julianna. You came here lookin’ for  _ me _ .” 

 

Jules wrenches her arm away. “Don’t you dare make assumptions about why I came here.”

 

“I don’t gotta,” he points out, not backing down. “You told me. You already know. Somewhere that felt  _ safe _ , remember? And you only felt relaxed when I held you. So, if you wanna lie to yourself about what we are and why you’re here, go right ahead, but you gotta know you’re lying. I sure as hell do.”

 

“Fuck you,” Jules hisses. She feels cornered by his unyielding scrutiny and unwillingness to let things slide and it fuels her anger. “I don’t need this. I don’t need anything from you.”

 

Alex huffs. “Turns out I was right. You’re not a very good liar.”

 

That has her seeing red. Jules shoves him as hard as she can. He stumbles back, but not nearly enough and she does it again, harder, sending him reeling away from her. She doesn’t wait to see where he lands. Jules turns, heading to the front door. The fucking  _ nerve _ of him… 

 

“Drivin’ angry is a bad plan, chica,” he says, following after her. 

 

“Well then maybe you shouldn’t have been an  _ asshole _ and pissed me off,” she growls, yanking his door open hard enough that it slams into the wall.

 

“Julianna,” he calls after her. She doesn’t break stride, heading toward her sister’s Jeep. She doesn’t take note of the little old lady next door sitting up from where she’d been tending her garden to watch them and neither does Alex. “ _ Julianna _ .”

 

“Fuck off, Alex,” Jules snaps, fiddling with the keys. She finally unlocks the Jeep and wrenches the driver’s door open. “Whatever this was is  _ over _ .”

 

“Still lying,” he accuses, reaching around her to slam the driver’s door shut again. She sputters but he talks over her. “Do you even know it this time? I know you did before.”

 

Jules grits her teeth, glaring at his reflection in the window, ignoring how warm he feels at her back. He’s too damned close and she has half a mind to ram her elbow back into his gut. 

 

“Maybe I mean it,” she bites out.

 

“Why? ‘Cause I answered a phone call from your concerned mother? Really?” he asks and the challenge in his voice has her spinning around to face him. She half expects him to jump back, but Alex is nothing like anything she’s ever experienced. He doesn’t budge. No, he actually steps closer, crowding her back against the Jeep. “Or is it ‘cause you were happy with me for a bit and now you feel bad about it?”

 

The words cut right through her. 

 

She can’t answer that. She  _ can’t _ , and God, she doesn’t want to. It’s too much. It’s way,  _ way _ more than she’s ready to deal with. Tears burn her eyes and her breaths come in short, uneven pants as she stares at him with a whisper of his name, the plea for him to let this go - to let  _ her _ go - filling her voice.

 

But she was right before: Alex is not Jackson. They do not deal with situations the same way - they don’t deal with  _ her _ the same way - and Alex is not going to let an argument end without it being on his terms.

 

His face softens, but he doesn't back down.

 

“If you wanna hide, you picked the wrong guy to start things with, chica,” he murmurs. “I ain’t the sort to let this go. You an’ me are more than what you wanna admit. And you know that, whether you want it to be true or not.”

 

Jules bites the tip of her tongue, not responding right away. She looks away, trying to steady herself. She can’t handle this right now, and she doesn’t want to. And she hates that he keeps pushing it. She tightens her hold on the keys, reveling in the bite of the hard metal in her palm. She’s not going to do this.  _ They’re  _ not doing this.

 

Steeling herself, she asks, “You gonna let me leave or what?”

 

Alex just raises an eyebrow at her. “Like you couldn’t have me on the ground in ten seconds flat? Isn’t that what you said yesterday?” 

 

“I could,” she replies. “And I’m armed.”

 

“I know,” he answers, tilting his head as his eyes dance over her face. “But you haven’t done a damned thing, which tells me part of you wants to have this conversation. You just needed me to insist on having it with you.”

 

Jules glares at him and her spark of outrage doubles when he gives her a small smile, almost in challenge. God, the  _ audacity _ of this man. Who the hell does he think he is? She wants to shove him away. She wants to punch him. She wants… 

 

Her palms suddenly tingle, her heart pounding, her head spinning as her eyes dart down to his lips before she can stop them. He’s so close and she’s not sure if she wants to scream at him or kiss him and drag him back inside.

 

She makes tight fists instead, concentrating on the keys chewing at her palm.

 

“I don’t like this,” she grits out. 

 

“Yeah,” Alex counters. “You do. But you don’t gotta admit that now. I know you need time to think things over.”

 

Jules shakes her head in exasperation. “So does that mean I can leave without breaking your arm?” she asks, her voice saccharine sweet.

 

Alex shakes his head with an unflappable air. “I ain’t gonna stop you,” he says, pulling back so he’s no longer caging her against the car door. “But you’re still pissed. And I wanna know when you get to your parents’ house safely. And I don’t want to have to call your mom to find out.”

 

“You are not my boyfriend, Alex,” she snaps. 

 

“No,” he agrees. “I’m not. But I damn well think I earned the right to call myself your lover. Don’t you?”

 

“God,” Jules breathes. 

 

He just doesn’t  _ stop _ . He raises his eyebrows at her, waiting for an answer and she swallows hard before biting the tip of her tongue  _ hard _ . She wants to deny it, just because he’s asking her that, but after last night it feels undeniable. Because it  _ is _ undeniable. 

 

_ Damn him _ . 

 

She finally tilts her head a little in agreement.

 

“Good,” Alex says. “That’s a start. Then, as your lover, Julianna, all I want is to know you’re okay. If you’re gonna drive while you’re mad and injured and stiff as hell with some bastard gunning for you, I don’t think I’m outta line asking for a text.”

 

Jules lets out an aggravated huff. “Fine,” she says. “ _ Fine _ . I will text you, but that’s it.”   
  


“Okay,” he relents, finally stepping back. “Then I’ll see you next time you need to feel  _ safe _ .”

 

She scowls as she gets in the car. “If I come back, that won’t be why,” Jules says before slamming the door shut and starting the car. It’s stifling in the car and as the engine roars to life, she rolls down the passenger-side window - not hers, not yet, not with Alex standing right there. She doesn’t want to give him the chance to say anything else. 

 

It’s the wrong move, though, because as Alex gets out of Jules’ way, his elderly neighbor stands up from her garden with a large grin, planting her hands on her hips as she says, “Your girlfriend is quite the little spitfire, Alejandro.”

 

“I am not his girlfriend,” Jules shouts before kicking the car into reverse. She looks back, making sure she isn’t about to run anyone over as she peels away quickly, but not without hearing Alex say, “You have no idea.”

 

The only reason Jules doesn’t shove her hand out the window to flip him off is because his neighbor is right there.

 

She’s barely off his street before she realizes her hands are shaking. She’s not sure if it’s from anger or fear or the proximity to him, but she’s intensely grateful for the car’s self-drive system, because she wouldn’t have made it to her parents’ house otherwise. By the time she’s around the corner hot tears are welling in her eyes, the world getting lost in an indistinguishable blur.

 

_ “Drivin’ angry is a bad plan, chica.” _

 

God, she wants to go back and just  _ scream _ at him.

 

It takes most of the drive to calm herself down, to not feel like she was going to crawl up the walls, to stop the hiccuped sobs and the tears streaming down her face. And it’s not even because she’s mad at him, although she is, but that’s not it. 

 

He was right. She had shown up looking to feel safe, because some part of her knew he could give that to her, and he  _ had _ . She’d felt the most amazing sense of peace in his arms and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so well.

 

And it was because of him. She knew that, and she’d almost been okay with it, but then he had to go and  _ ruin _ it. It’d been too perfect, and he hadn’t been willing to back down when she’d challenged the truth of his words.

 

_ Jackson would have.  _

 

A sharp sob lodges itself in her throat as the real reason behind her ire hits her. 

 

She’s accepted needing sex, even with him gone. That’s biology. But needing comfort, needing another man’s arms around her, sharing an easy breakfast with someone in his kitchen after spending the night together in his bed…

 

Jackson had been all of those things, and he’d  _ died _ because of it, and here she was, acting like what had happened to him didn’t matter.

 

_ She betrayed him. _

 

That hits her so hard she can barely breathe.

 

Jackson wouldn’t judge her, either, and that makes it worse. He’d been so  _ good _ , so perfect. Nothing would have been more important to him than her happiness. She knows that without a doubt.

 

It just makes her hold onto his memory harder.

 

He deserved better than this. 

 

He deserved to live. He deserved to be happy.

 

That thought stays with her, the words floating in the back of her mind, joining the memories she’d selfishly pushed aside the night before. 

 

By the time she gets to her parents’ house there’s only one thing rattling around her head and she makes her way inside and upstairs to her old room without greeting anyone.

 

Her mother calling her name follows her up up the stairs, but she ignores it, ignores the soft footfalls at her back, the quiet, “Jules, what…?” as she reaches her room. Her mother is right behind her, but Jules doesn’t pay any mind to her, throwing open her closet door and grabbing a box on the top shelf.

 

Jules can hear the caution in her mother’s voice as she asks, “Honey, what are you doing?” but she doesn’t answer. 

 

The container is heavy in her hands, weighed down with a life that will never be, and that has Jules’ throat closing as she places it on the bed. Once upon a time she thought she had to earn the right to go through all of this, to even  _ look _ at it, but now…

 

Jules roots around until she finds what she’s looking for.

 

A pained sigh falls from her lips as she grabs the tiny jewelry box and pops it open. The modest little solitaire stares back at her and she doesn’t care that her hands are shaking as she pulls it out of the box.

 

It’s beautiful, simple and clean, just like Jackson. It catches some of the sunlight coming through the window and it reminds her so much of his smile that she wants to cry. 

 

She doesn’t think she deserves it right now.

 

But she wants to, so badly.

 

“Oh… Baby, don’t do this,” her mom pleads as Jules slowly sits down on the edge of the bed and slips the band onto her right-hand ring finger. The metal is cold and it burns her skin even though her own hands feel like ice. Felicity steps closer. “Jules, this is not a good step. You know that. It’s why you kept that ring here.”

 

“I made a mistake,” Jules whispers down at her hand. “That’s why I left it here. I should’ve never taken it off.”

 

“Julianna, I need you to listen to me,” her mother says, crouching down in front of her and taking both of her hands in her own. “It took a year and a half to get you to take that ring off and it was the biggest step toward healing you’ve ever taken.”

 

“No,” Jules argues, shaking her head, looking at her mother with guarded eyes. “It was a betrayal.”

 

She doesn’t know if she means the ring or Alex. Both, maybe. 

 

“It was  _ not _ ,” her mom insists. “Jules, what good does it do if you spend your whole life mourning what you and he lost? Who does that benefit? Jackson would want you to be  _ happy _ .”

 

And she wanted Jackson to be happy. But he can’t have that. He’ll never have that.

 

Jules doesn’t argue with her mom, because there’s no arguing with her words. 

 

That doesn’t make them feel right, though. 

 

“What even brought this on, Jules?” her mom asks, stroking her hair away from her face. 

 

“Nothing,” Jules whispers, feeling herself shutting down more and more by the moment. But where before her mother couldn’t penetrate the hard walls Jules kept around her, her mother now has a way of bringing her back. Sometimes that’s nice, but not right now. Especially because - like some other people in her life - she’s not great at letting Jules hide what she’s feeling.  

 

Felicity is quiet for a long moment before she finally says, “He means more to you than you thought he would, doesn’t he?” 

 

Tears burn Jules’ eyes and she purses her lips. She sends up a silent prayer that her mother means Jackson. But even as she prays, she knows better. 

 

“Your  _ friend _ ,” her mom clarifies.

 

Jules flinches like she’s been slapped and she gasps. A tear escapes before she can stop it, slipping down her cheek, leaving a trail of pain in its wake. She sniffles, pressing the back of her ringed-hand to her nose. 

 

“Oh, honey,” Felicity whispers, squeezing Jules’ hands. “That’s a  _ good _ thing.”

 

“ _ No _ ,” Jules snaps, the sharpness of her own voice surprising even her. “It’s  _ not _ , okay, because… because Jackson’s killer tried to shoot me yesterday and the second I left the hospital all I wanted was for my  _ friend _ to hold me and make me feel like everything was gonna be okay. It’s not because that  _ worked _ and I woke up and my toothbrush was next to his. My  _ toothbrush,  _ Mom.”

 

Jules isn’t sure if her mom keeps up with her mini-rant, but she also doesn’t really need to because the angry desperation in her voice echoes through the room. Felicity is up in an instant and sitting next to Jules on the bed, wrapping an arm around her, pulling her close.

 

“You’re overwhelmed,” Felicity says. “That’s all. And I get it, Julie-bug. I really do. Feelings you aren’t ready for are big and scary.”

 

“I don’t want them,” Jules says, shaking her head hard. “I want them to go away. I just thought he was cute. Someone to flirt with or whatever. I didn’t want it to mean anything.”

 

“And now you’re terrified because it does,” her mother finishes. “Oh, honey. I wish you knew how good a thing that really was.”

 

“It’s not,” she protests. She sits up, but Felicity still keeps her arm around her, even as Jules slashes her hand through the air. “And it’s over. Whatever it was, it’s done. The feelings part. I’m rejecting them. And I’m keeping the ring on, so don’t even try to tell me not to.”

 

Felicity opens her mouth to respond before changing her mind. She purses her lips, and Jules suddenly sees herself in her mother and for reasons she can’t explain, it upsets her. 

 

“You’re a grown woman, Jules,” her mother tells her. “You can make your own choices. But, for what it’s worth, I think you’re making a mistake. He’s a  _ good _ man and it’s very obvious that he cares about you.”

 

“Did you decide that this morning when you called him for a chat?” Jules asks in a clipped voice, glowering at her mom. 

 

“Yes,” her mother replies. “I did. At least with the caring about you, part. I knew he was a good man before that. Did you know he asked me if you had any food allergies so that he could make you breakfast?”

 

That has a tiny buzz of nerves dancing through her stomach and Jules groans before flopping back on the bed. “That jackass,” she grumbles, drawing an arm across her eyes. 

 

“It must be very inconvenient for you that he’s so wonderful,” Felicity notes in a dry voice. 

 

“It  _ is _ .”

 

“Not for nothing, sweetheart, but I think if you wanted to open up to someone about Jackson and how you felt about all of this, Alex would listen,” her mother advises. “But… as your Mom, I am also duty-bound to tell you that I am more than happy to be your sounding board, too. Over ice cream, if you’d like.”

 

“Or cookie dough?” Jules asks, moving her arm and lifting an eyebrow at her mother.

 

“Want to compromise on cookie dough ice cream?” she suggests. 

 

“God, yes, that sounds amazing.” Jules sighs. “But not today. We have more important things to worry about than my personal life right now. How’s Nate?” 

 

Jules knows her little brother is fine - he’d been fine when he’d shooed her out of his room with a dopey grin after they’d given him “the floaty drugs” - but concern for him still floods her. 

 

“He’s fine,” her mother assures her. “He’s asleep in my office because we didn’t want him trekking up and down the stairs. He’s still a bit loopy and he’ll be using one crutch for a bit just to keep some weight off that leg, but he’s okay.” Felicity pauses, and for a split second Jules can see the toll the last day has taken on her mother. “We got so lucky, kiddo.” 

 

“Yeah,” Jules whispers. They really had. Yesterday could have easily meant her death or Nate’s… or both. Death isn’t a stranger to the Queen family, but that doesn’t make it any easier. It almost makes it harder.

 

She wonders how Alex would have reacted if she’d gotten shot, or worse, died. Would he have mourned her?

 

And why in hell is she thinking about that?

 

“We should get downstairs,” her mother says, patting her leg and pulling Jules from her thoughts. “Your dad, Ellie, Will and Sara were compiling some data.”

 

Jules sits up. “Not Eric?” she asks.

 

“He went home for a nap,” her mother informs her. “He and the others will be by later.”

 

“Okay,” Jules agrees, getting off the bed.

 

The box she’d dug through for the ring catches her eye and she pauses. Parts of her life with Jackson stare back at her. Now that the urgency that’d driven her up here had faded, she felt like she was looking at relics instead of the treasured items that they were. That they  _ are _ . It’s a mish-mosh of things that all have meaning to her, but… 

 

Realizing that their relevance is fading for her becomes a whole different sort of pain and she tries to take a steadying breath, but it gets stuck in her throat.

 

No one told her loss was like this, that her memory would grow spotty. That she’d stop being able to hear the exact cadence of his voice or remember the precise feel of his hand in hers. That his scent would fade and she’d never find a copy of it anywhere ever again, despite sniffing his cologne or sleeping in his shirts. 

 

Loss, she’s finding, happens in stages. It’s a process of letting go when you don’t want to and every single step feels like she’s turning her back on him.

 

She’s not ready to let him go. She doesn’t think she ever will be.

 

“Are you okay, Jules?” her mother asks. 

 

Jules looks up to find her mother staring at her. 

 

“I’ll be okay when this is over,” she replies. The wary look on her mother’s face forces her to amend her statement. “When we catch this guy.”

 

“As long as you know those aren’t the same thing,” her mother says. 

 

She does. She just doesn’t want to think about that. 

 

“Give me a second to put this away,” Jules tells her mom. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

 

“You sure?” her mother asks. 

 

“Yeah. And I need to…” Jules rolls her eyes. “I need to let my  _ friend  _ know I got here because he pissed me off and then said he was worried about me driving. Overprotective jerk.”

 

Felicity grins. “I like this boy.”

 

“You would,” Jules sasses back. 

 

“But I still like you more,” her mom says. 

 

Jules rolls her eyes again. Lord, her mother is a  _ sap _ .

 

As if to prove that point, Felicity leans in and kisses Jules soundly on the cheek. 

 

“Oh, and, sweetheart? You might want to put on a little makeup before you come downstairs.” Her mother taps the side of her own neck. “Your  _ friend _ left a mark.”

 

Jules eyes widen in horror and she immediately slaps a hand over her neck as her mother stifles a chuckle. 

 

“See you downstairs in a few.”

 

“Mhm,” Jules agrees, nodding, pressing her lips together until they’re bloodless. 

 

Her mother is barely out of the room before she hurries over to look in the mirror. Sure enough, there’s a purple blotch just above her collarbone that definitely isn’t something she got from rolling beneath her car.

 

“Son of a bitch,” she hisses at her reflection, craning her neck to get a better look. She doesn’t even remember that happening. With another curse, Jules grabs some ancient powder from the top drawer of her old dresser and gets to work attempting to cover the mark as she pulls out her phone to text him with her other hand. 

 

_ JQ: You left a damned hickey. _

 

_ AC: Am I supposed to be sorry? _

 

That has her cursing him all over again.

 

_ JQ: No, but you could’ve warned me before I went to my parents’ house! _

 

_ AC: That mean you’re there safe? _

 

_ JQ: Yes. Until I die of mortification when Will or my dad sees this hickey that is. _

 

_ AC: Calm down, chica. There’s no way this is the first time they’ve seen you with a love bite. _

 

She scoffs. Honestly. The  _ nerve. _

 

_ JQ: Careful. I bite back. _

 

Jules checks her neck in the mirror. It’s as good as it’s going to get right now. She tosses the powder back into the drawer as her phone vibrates.

 

_ AC: I have no doubt. _

 

She stares at the screen, contemplating responding. But everything she wants to say feels like fuel on a fire she desperately wanted to go away. Shaking her head, she goes to shove her phone into her pocket when it buzzes again.

 

_ AC: Hey, be careful, okay? I’m gonna worry about you. _

 

_ JQ: I can take care of myself. _

 

_ AC: Never said you couldn’t. Don’t mean I’m not gonna worry. _

 

_ JQ: You’re such an old man. _

 

_ AC: Just promise me, Julianna. I don’t like knowing someone’s gunning for you. _

 

_ JQ: Fine, old man. I promise. _

 

Jules tacks on an eye-rolling emoji for good measure.

 

_ AC: Thanks. _

 

She thinks that’s the end of it but then he adds on a kissy face emoji, something that has her grinning and shaking her head before she pockets her phone. 

 

Her smile dies when she catches sight of the ring on her finger, a familiar rush of guilt washes through her all over again.

 

_ Enough. _

 

It’s time to fight for justice.

 

Jules refocuses, centers herself on the here and now - on the important stuff - and heads down to the basement level to join her family. 

 

The moment she hits the bottom of the stairs, she asks, “What’ve we got?” 

 

Everyone’s eyes are on her.

 

“How are you?” her father asks, his voice low as he moves to her side and puts a hand on her shoulder. 

 

“I’m fine,” she replies. She doesn’t  _ sound _ it, though, so with a deep breath she stands a little taller and adds, “I’ll be better when we bring this guy down. What’ve we got?”

 

“A trail I am following right now,” her mother informs her, her fingers flying across the keys. “Will, Ellie and Sara gave us a good start, but this work is a  _ little _ above their pay grade.” Her eyes widen and she turns to her kids. “That’s not to say what you did isn’t valuable or that you don’t know what you’re doing. You do. It’s just-”

 

“It’s fine, Felicity,” Will interrupts with an amused smile. “We are well aware that you’re much better at illegally hacking databases than we are.”

 

“It just takes practice,” Felicity says. “You’ll get better in time, if you want to.”

 

“At illegally hacking. Right.” Ellie nods. “Why do I think this isn’t how most families spend their Thursday mornings?”

 

“We’re better than them,” Jules informs her sister, her eyes not straying once from their mother. “Tell me about the trail.”

 

“The scene was pretty clean,” her mom says, giving Jules a warning look to prepare her for not great news. “We didn’t pull any fingerprints or hair or anything like that to trace back. But we did get a bullet.”

 

“How does that help?” Jules asks, closing in on her mom’s desk and leaning against it with one hand as she eyes the screen. “Bullets are a dime a dozen.”

 

“Yes, but the striations on this one matches the ones that killed our hitmen,” her mother informs her. 

 

Jules’ blood runs cold at that. “Are you telling me that whoever shot at us yesterday is the same guy who killed the guys who were sent after us three years ago?” 

 

“I’m telling you that whoever shot at you yesterday used the same gun,” her mom replies, looking her square in the eye. “And I don’t think it was a  _ guy _ .”

 

“What?” Jules asks, frowning. “Why?” 

 

“The angle of the shots,” Sara supplies, pulling Jules’ attention to her. “The shooter is either a tall woman or a short man.”  

 

“What kind of height are we talking?” Jules asks. 

 

“Around 5’9,” her mother answers. “Maybe slightly shorter. But I think I can get us much better information than that.”

 

“How?” 

 

“Surveillance cameras off of your building,” Felicity says. “We didn’t get much, since the shooter was on the fourth floor, but we did get a partial side-view. It’s super blurry, but it’s better than nothing. I’ve mapped likely data points based on that to extrapolate the front of her face and I’m running some programs to compare to public databases. If anything pops, we’ll know.”

 

“The partial side-view was poor enough that you can’t guess gender reliably but you think you can find a match?” Jules asks.

 

“Technology has better eyes than I do.” Her mother shrugs. “And for what it’s worth, I’ll bet you a new car that your shooter’s a woman.”

 

Jules snorts. “Like I’m not using my trust fund? You’re kinda paying either way, Mom.”

 

“Well, that’s not  _ exactly _ to say-” her mother starts, but she’s cut off by the computer beeping. 

 

Everything stops as a driver’s license photo pops up on her mother’s screen. 

 

“Who the hell is that?” Jules asks. 

 

“I have no idea,” her father replies, but his tone is guarded and when Jules glances back at him, she catches his fingers twitching at his side.

 

“This is who shot at me?” Jules demands, looking from her father to her mother. “This is who killed Jackson?”

 

“It’s an eighty-seven percent match.” Felicity clicks through a few keys with a grim line to her face. “Patrice Kennedy. She’s got a criminal record, which ups the odds that she’s our shooter in my opinion.” 

 

“Why?” Will asks, watching his father. “Who is she? Why would she come after us? And what did she get out of all of this?”

 

“I have no idea,” Oliver answers. “But those are all things we need to find out.”

 

Well, that’s something Jules has a difference of opinion on. She studies the face of the woman on the screen, committing it to memory, swearing it into her mind’s eye. 

 

“Nope,” she says. “We don’t. I don’t need to know why she killed Jackson. All I needed was a name and a face. We have that. I don’t give a damn about her motive. I don’t need that to get justice.”

 

“Yes, you do,” Ellie tells her, giving her a challenging look. “What you  _ don’t _ need it for is vengeance.”

 

The whole room is quiet enough that you could hear a pin drop.

 

“Ellie, I love you, but you cannot possibly understand this,” Jules informs her sister, her voice cold and unyielding. “You can get on my side or you can get out of my way.”

 

Hurt skates over Ellie’s face. “I’m always on your side,” Ellie replies, her tone leaving Jules feeling like she’s kicked a puppy.

 

“It never ends well when you give ultimatums like that, Jules,” Will says softly. 

 

“Too much damage has already been done for this to end well,” Jules replies. “I just want it to  _ end _ .”

 

“Well then how about we come up with a plan instead of just rushing out into the streets with masks and a grudge?” her father chimes in. “This is not someone to be underestimated, Jules. She’s already proven that she’s dangerous.”

 

“Where does that leave us?” Ellie asks. “Where do we go from here?”

 

“From here… We rest,” Oliver announces. 

 

Jules scoffs and turns to leave. 

 

“Don’t you dare, Julianna,” her father snaps. “If you go hunting after her on your own, I will call the police and report you myself.”

 

Jules stops in her tracks at that and looks back at her father with shocked eyes. “You cannot be serious.”

 

“Very serious,” Oliver tells her. “I’d rather see you arrested than confronting this woman by yourself when you’re hot-headed and unprepared. It’s foolish and arrogant. You’re better than that. And I’m not going to let you go on a suicide run.”

 

Fury courses through her as she stares at her father, her jaw and fists clenching tightly. 

 

He’s not the least bit intimidated. Oliver steps closer to her, stopping when he’s only a foot away. “There have been those I’ve trained that I couldn’t teach patience or discipline,” he says, his voice quiet, but the weight of his words resonates. “I am damned well going to teach them to you, whether you like it or not. Prioritize yourself here, Jules. Choose the smarter path for your own sake. Don’t make me force my hand on this.”

 

“If I go down as Tempest, there’s no way that you and Ellie don’t go down as Arrow and Dart,” Jules points out. “The whole thing comes crumbling down the moment one of us is caught.”

 

“If it keeps you alive…” Her father’s gaze doesn’t waver. “I don’t care.”

 

The earnestness in his voice has tears burning the back of her throat. He means it. He’d sooner see himself and both of his daughters in jail than watch her go after Jackson’s killer alone. 

 

“I have loved you for twenty-five years,” he says, a soft, sad smile on his face as he cups her face. “I don’t care what it costs me. I love you, Julianna. I would do anything to keep you safe. Anything at all.”

 

Jules holds his gaze. Defining how that makes her feel is impossible. Overwhelmed, grateful, annoyed, powerless, affectionate… It’s too much to boil down to one thing, but her response is the only thing she can think of. 

 

“I’m only twenty-four.”

 

“If you think I only started loving you when you were born,” he replies, “you are very mistaken.”

 

“Dad,” she whispers uneasily as she settles her hands atop his. 

 

“Your life means more to me than anything else in the world, Jules,” he says. “I’ll fight anyone for it. Even you.”

 

It takes her a moment, but she finally nods. “Okay,” she agrees. “Okay. We’ll all rest and plan. We’ll do this together.”

 

“That’s all I ask,” Oliver tells her. 

 

It’s impossible to miss the sigh of relief her mother gives in the background. 

 

“Tonight?” Jules requests. “We go after her tonight.”

 

“We’ll get working on a plan,” her mom agrees. 

 

It’s a start. 

 

But it’s also a lot more work than Jules expects. 

 

The day is long and painstakingly slow. Getting any kind of a trace on Patrice’s whereabouts proves maddeningly fruitless. Jules loses her patience more than once, only to be talked down by her parents or - one time - by Will.  

 

It seems like she’s so close, but so far away at the same time. They finally know who is responsible for everything, who to hold accountable for Jackson’s murder. For three years, she’s dreamed of this. 

 

But now she’s stuck in her parents’ basement without a clue where to  _ find _ the damned woman. 

 

Everyone but her takes turns napping. It’d been a long night for them all. But when sundown hits, Jules isn’t willing to wait any longer. 

 

“At a minimum, we need to patrol,” she insists. “Hit the streets in the old Bertinelli area. See if we can draw her out.”

 

“You want to be  _ bait _ ?” her father asks. 

 

“She came after me once,” Jules points out. “Probably because someone spotted me hanging around her old haunt. It might make her show her face again.”

 

“Walking around that area like you’ve got a bullseye on your back seems like a really terrible idea, Jules,” her mother tells her. 

 

“Do you have a better one?” she challenges. “Or am I going to be looking over my shoulder every time I go to the gallery? Or my  _ apartment _ ? Or do you expect me to just stay locked up in this basement for however long it takes to track her down, because I’m not doing that. And you wouldn’t either.”

 

There’s a quiet moment of consideration as everyone looks at each other, but she also knows there’s no real argument against her. Not on these grounds. She won’t live her life as a prisoner. 

 

“We stick together,” her father warns. “And you’ll go as Tempest, not plain clothes.”

 

“How do we even know that she knows I’m Tempest?” Jules demands. 

 

“She knew enough to come after my children three years ago,” Oliver points out. “And she’s clearly been keeping tabs on you. I think it’s a safe bet she knows. If not, we’ll come up with another plan and another and another until something works. This is our first attempt to grab her, Jules. It doesn’t mean it’ll be our last.”

 

Jules isn’t thrilled by that, but she accepts it with a begrudging, “Fine.”

 

“Good,” Oliver says. “We’ll stay in areas with lots of cameras your mom and Will can monitor.”

 

“What?” Will asks. “I’m not staying here if she’s in the field with someone gunning for her.”

 

Oliver pauses, his jaw tightening before turning toward his older son. 

 

“You’re needed behind a monitor,” he says. “Not a mask.”

 

“I’m her brother,” Will protests. 

 

“Then be her brother here,” Oliver replies. “Be the voice in her ear and the eyes looking out for her. The same way you’ve always done.”

 

“I know you’ve got my back, Will,” Jules tells him, giving a solemn nod. “This suits you better.”

 

It’s true. Her brother has always hated the idea of being behind a mask. He’s a hero in his own right, but violence doesn’t sit easily with him, even when it’s necessary. 

 

Her sister, however, is a very different personality. 

 

“Let’s do this,” Ellie says, bouncing on her toes. It’s only her father’s steadying hand on her shoulder and heavy look that puts a damper on her excitement. 

 

“We’ll work from here,” Felicity tells them. “I don’t want to be too far away from Nate. Just in case.”

 

Just in case he has a reaction to the medicine. Just in case he pushes himself too much and trips. Just in case he’s targeted again… 

 

Felicity doesn’t specify and no one asks. 

 

“Okay,” Oliver agrees, kissing her softly. There’s a tension that doesn’t leave his frame when he does, though, and that’s when Jules knows for certain how very worried he really is about tonight.  

 

Her mom always seems to calm him down. 

 

Not today. 

 

“Julie-bug…” Her mom moves to hug her. “You come home safe to me, okay? We still have that cookie dough ice cream chat we need to have.”

 

“Yeah,” Jules replies, hugging her mom back. “I’ll be fine. Pinky-swear.”

 

“Time to suit up then,” Digg declares. 

 

It’s not more than half an hour before they hit the streets. It’s a big group today, everyone in Team Arrow. Both Arsenals are in the field - even though Uncle Roy rarely joins these days. So are Arrow, Spartan, and Harbinger, Cynisca, Dart, and Tempest. Eight of them with two more back in the brownstone basement manning the computers. 

 

It should’ve been enough. They’re a well-oiled machine by now. Everything should’ve been fine. 

 

But their adversary has been watching and waiting and when everything happens, it happens very quickly. 

 

One minute, Jules feels like she’s fully aware of her surroundings. She knows where her team is, has a good handle on her environment thanks to Overwatch and Brother on the comms. 

 

But the next moment throws her.

 

It starts with an armed robbery. They’ll find out later that the robbers were paid off to hold up the liquor store, but they don’t know that at the time and both Arsenals break away from the larger group to deal with it. 

 

A nearby car’s self-drive mechanism breaks, sending it careening into a building and pulling away Cynisca, Spartan and Harbinger. 

 

That’s when they realize this is a bit too coincidental. 

 

They’re being picked off. 

 

“Get back,” Overwatch calls through the comms. “This is wrong. You need to get back.  _ Now _ .” 

 

Dart and Arrow are both with her still and Jules is on high alert, watching for anything at all that might give away what’s going to happen next. 

 

“She’s here,” Jules hisses. “I know she is. She’s here  _ somewhere _ .”

 

“That’s why we have to go,” Ellie insists from her right. “You don’t fight blind against an enemy who’s not in the dark.”

 

“If we just-”

 

“ _ Tempest _ ,” her father growls. His voice modulator has always been impressive. “Listen to orders.”

 

It’s too late, though, even as Jules wars with herself over abandoning her pursuit of an unseen adversary versus following the team back to safety. She misses the figure on a nearby fire escape with a scoped rifle in hand. And it’s not an area any nearby cameras can pick up. Ellie’s too intent on Jules to notice. Oliver does, but to say he was first would be a lie. 

 

No, the first person to notice the shooter in her perch is someone poised above them. 

 

It’s not one of the bad guys, nor anyone on the team, but he drops down to the figure’s level and knocks her gun from her grip with one solid hit to her back. 

 

Her startled shout draws everyone’s attention.

 

The blur of action that follows has Jules’ head spinning. Jackson’s killer is just feet away from her, well within grasp, and she’s fighting hand-to-hand with a much larger masked man who she’s never seen before.

 

“What the hell?” Ellie whispers, but it gets lost in the shuffle.

 

The woman is winning. The masked man has disarmed her, but she’s clearly the better fighter. She is not, however, better than Oliver and she knows it. And when she sees him climbing the fire escape, she abandons her fight with the masked man to launch herself across the alleyway from one building’s fire escape to the next. 

 

She’s  _ fast _ and light. Arrow, with his long-injured knee might be able to take her in a fight, but that’s only if he can reach her. Ellie is younger, though. Faster. And she scales the fire escape like it’s as easy as walking, while Jules scoops up the rifle and takes aim. 

 

“Don’t kill her,” Jules hears her father shout even as she takes the shot. 

 

Maybe if her father hadn’t given such a clear warning, she’d have landed it, too, but the target dives backwards just in time, barely hanging off the edge of the fire escape. 

 

The only reason she doesn’t fall is because Ellie grabs her by the arm. And her sister’s proximity and her own shaking hand are the only thing that keep Jules from taking another shot. 

 

Ellie grabs the woman’s mask and tugs it off. Sure enough, it’s Patrice Kennedy.

 

“Got you!” Jules shouts. 

 

But only Patrice, Ellie and her father are around to hear it. When Jules looks around, she sees the masked man who had saved her has disappeared. That raises a whole new set of questions, but right now she doesn’t care. Right now all of Jules’ focus is on their captive and getting a few answers before finally getting her justice for Jackson.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Portions of this chapter come from the original exploratory ficlet I wrote (but never posted) as I felt out who Jules and Alex were to each other. I was glad to be able to use it here. If you're interested in the original work-up, I'll leave the link to the GDoc in notes at the end of this chapter.

 

Questioning gets them exactly nowhere.

 

The woman says _nothing_. Not a word. And no amount of influence seems like it’s going to change her mind.

 

Even though she clearly knows who they are and where they live, the team brought her back to the lair blindfolded after having driven in circles for a bit so she couldn’t gauge the distance. Having some kind of possible safe refuge seemed vital, in her father’s head. But in hindsight, Jules thinks he may have made a mistake. All those extra measures gives their captive the security that they don’t intend to kill her. It’s giving her less incentive to talk. And, the longer this goes on, the less Jules is inclined to see her survive this.

 

But even without her talking, they know for sure is that she is not Jackson’s killer, a fact that has Jules’ frustration raging and anger _mounting_.

 

It’s undeniable, though: Patrice Kennedy is not the mastermind behind this. Three years ago, she was still serving time for money laundering after the prosecutor failed to make his case on conspiracy to commit murder.

 

She’s just a hired gun.

 

And Jules has had enough of her silence.

 

“Do you know what your employer did to the last hitmen he hired?” Jules demands, getting in the woman’s face. “We could reenact it for you if you’d like. You brought the same gun, after all.” She flicks the woman’s forehead. “Bullet would come out right here.”

 

Her response is to blow a kiss at Jules and the violence that rockets through Jules is staggering. She’s reaching for her chain-whip without even thinking about it and it’s only her father’s hand grabbing her wrist that stays her hand. He yanks her away from their captive with a steel grip.

 

“Take a walk,” he orders.

 

“Are you _kidding_ me?” Jules growls. “This is the best lead we’ve had in three years to tracking down the bastard behind all of this and you want me to _leave_?”

 

“I’m _telling_ you to leave,” her father repeats harshly. “You are not rational right now and you can’t be here like this.”

 

Jules steps back, staring at him with incredulity before skimming the others in the room. She receives a few rueful shrugs and a lot of people who won’t look at her, but other than that it’s just a pained noise from Will over the comms along with her mother’s quiet, “Oliver... “ in warning objection.

 

At least her mom and maybe Will are on her side.

 

“Fine,” Jules spits out, throwing her chain-whip on the ground at her father’s feet. “Whatever. Have a nice little chat with her and share some cocoa or something. Maybe you can sweet talk her into giving up her employer. That seems likely.”

 

“Hey,” her dad says, giving her a warning look. “I need you to promise me that you’re not going to go out hunting on your own.”

 

“Oh my _God_ ,” Jules says in exasperation, stalking back towards the woman. “No. I’m not gonna go patrolling when every answer we need is right here in her head!” She punctuates every word by flicking the woman’s forehead.

 

“Well, the fact that you just tossed your _weapon_ where your opponent can reach it is a clear sign you’re _not thinking straight_ ,” her father snaps at her.

 

She pulls back a little at that and glances down to her favorite weapon, discarded on the ground. It’s at her father’s feet, yet the would-be assassin they’ve tied up is right there, too. Could she grab it with her feet? Would she be able to free herself and hurt someone on the team?

 

Maybe.

 

That thought hits her in the gut as she watches her dad’s foot kick the chain-whip away from their captive.

 

“Go,” he tells her. “I get where you’re at. I understand how hard this is for you - believe me, I do - but you need to step away.”

 

She nods, really hearing him this time. He’s right and she knows that now, even if it leaves her confused and uneasy.

 

“I’ll be by to pick up Bokeh later,” she tells him as she steps away.

 

“Where are you going to go?” Ellie asks, her face full of concern.

 

Sara’s at her side, watching Ellie like she would give anything to be able to help, to alleviate the worry. Even with them not together, they’re a couple in many other ways. There’s a solidarity between the two that far outlasts the sexual tension they’ve been building up these last few years. Sara sets a hand on Ellie’s arm, quietly supportive.

 

It strikes Jules suddenly that what she’s feeling right now is jealousy. Not at _Sara,_ of course, or of their tip-toe dance around being a couple, but of having that sense that someone you love is completely and totally on your side.

 

Missing Jackson is painful, but missing what they’d had is, too.

 

“Jules?” Ellie asks again, stepping away from Sara and rubbing at her own arm where Sara’s hand had lain.

 

Jules blinks, realizing she has yet to answer her sister’s question.

 

 _Where are you going_?

 

“Anywhere but here,” she replies. “Don’t wait up.”

 

The first thing Jules realizes when she leaves their headquarters is that she doesn’t have her car. Of course she doesn’t, because it basically faced a firing squad yesterday and is probably going to be totaled. But the last thing she wants is to walk back into that room and demand someone give her their keys.

 

So she walks.

 

And walks.

 

And walks.

 

It starts raining after about a half hour, a lukewarm downpour that leaves her absolutely drenched. She doesn’t care. She’s weathered so much worse.

 

Her walking is aimless, at least for a while. She heads vaguely south without conscious purpose. But after a bit, the streets turn residential. The styles shift until she’s surrounded by homes with barrel-tile roofs and stucco siding.

 

She has to laugh at herself. When she lets her mind check out and allows her body to take control, it seems it will always lead her back to the same place.

 

For now, she goes along with it, lets her feet walk three more blocks and up to a now-familiar door. She pauses only to shake her head at herself before knocking.

 

Considering how they left things, Alex’s wary look of surprise when he pulls open the door makes a lot of sense.

 

“What are you doing here, Julianna?”

 

It takes everything she has not to snort in reply. It should be obvious, after all.

 

“I told you I’d be back,” she answers, stepping past him and into his family room.

 

She’d told him it wouldn’t be because she needs to feel safe, too, but she leaves that unspoken right now. Because in truth… in truth that probably is part of why she’s here. It’s not so much that she physically feels endangered. She’s alright on that front today. But right now her own emotions feel like a threat she doesn’t know how to fight. There’s too much in her head and she just needs a touchstone, a tether, something that grounds her.

 

She’s soaked to the bone. Her shirt sticks to her like a second skin, her hair plastered to her back like an inky waterfall, but she holds her head high because the alternative is showing how very lost and beaten-down she feels.

 

That’s not something she’s willing to do.

 

This way is easier.

 

She bunches up her shirt and twists it, wringing out water all over his floor. Her eyes stay fixed on him as she does it, noting both the uncertainty and desire living in his eyes.

 

“You got a dryer I can use?” she asks, forcing her voice to go saccharine and her eyes to go wide as she blinks at him. “A girl could catch a cold in this weather if she’s not careful.”

 

“Julianna…”

 

The warning in his voice is nothing compared to the way he eyes her body. He lingers on the parts she’s intentionally exposed, speaking volumes about how much she affects him. But even that is secondary to the way he keeps licking his lips.

 

Like he’s chasing the taste of her from last night.

 

Like he’s craving more of her.

 

The satisfaction that suffuses every inch of her only drives her own need higher. Does he know? Does he get how much he makes her body come alive? It’s like she’s been sleepwalking these last few years, and it’s only now - _with him_ \- that she’s finally waking up.

 

Alex’s next breath flares his nostrils. “You don’t play fair, chica,” he tells her.

 

“I’ve never once claimed to play fair,” she replies. Jules raises her eyebrows as she eyes him up and down. It’s her turn to lick her lips when she sees the growing bulge in his jeans. “Alex,” she breathes, tugging her lower between her teeth.

 

His eyes fix on her mouth and the sound he makes is closer to a growl. Tension visibly mounts in his features as he works his jaw from side-to-side before he breathes out a low, steady exhale.

 

“You gonna let me take you to dinner?” he asks.

 

It’s a challenge and a clear sign that he’s not going to let this go all wrapped up in one, but this time she knows exactly how to respond.

 

“No,” Jules says, pulling her sopping wet shirt over her head and dropping it onto the floor, leaving her in a bra she knows he can see right through. “But I am gonna let you fuck me.”

 

His nostrils flare again, his breathing growing a little more ragged. He’s dumbstruck enough by her forwardness and her bare flesh that he only manages to respond with a grunt, but even that dissolves into nothing when she steps closer. She presses her hands to his chest. The heat radiating from him is scorching and she digs her nails into him. He clenches his jaw, staring down at her.

 

“You want this, too,” she says, her mouth precariously close to his. “Don’t lie. We’re good together. We _work_. You and me… something just clicks.”

 

“We _could_ be good together,” he corrects and she wrinkles her nose up in annoyance. “If you’d let us really _be_ together.”

 

“That’s not on the table,” she reminds him. “This is about chemistry. Nothing else.”

 

“Maybe for you,” he replies, his eyes softening. Jules blinks, her touch faltering. She’s spent so much time thinking about her own feelings, her own terms for their quasi-relationship that she hadn’t really paused to give him equal consideration. _It’s not fair._ That thought alone is almost as jarring as how much it upsets her. He’s not done talking. “You got a way about you, Julianna, and it pulls me in. You’re sexy as hell and, yes, I want you. You gotta know that. But it’s not just your body I want.”

 

Jules bites the tip of her tongue hard enough to make her grimace. _Damn him_. She pulls back a little, shaking her head. “My heart’s not available, Alex.”

 

“Locking it up ain’t gonna do you any favors,” he says, so soft it’s barely audible. His eyes drop to her cheek, his hand coming up to chase a raindrop slipping from her wet hair. His fingertip follow it across the curve of her collarbone and down the top of her sternum. His touch has her heart pounding, her eyes fluttering shut, a breathy moan falling from her lips as fire erupts in his wake. His hands against her skin, touching her, making her _feel_ … she wants it, more than she should. But he’s not done and his hand pauses as he adds, “Not everybody’s gonna break it.”

 

His words war with the want he’s igniting deep inside her.

 

“Alex…” Jules tilts her hips toward him, arching her back, pressing her breasts up toward the path of his fingers. “Come on. You know what I want. I need this tonight. Don’t tease.”

 

His jaw is tight again and she can see his conflict. She almost feels guilty, but her need for him overruns it.

 

She whispers his name again, her hands finding his waist, pulling him closer.

 

He doesn’t fight her. Instead his eyes drop down to his hand again as it drifts up her neck, like it’s moving of its own volition. “You’re a very hard woman to say no to, Julianna,” he says, his fingers brushing over her jaw before running his thumb across her bottom lip.

 

She bites it.

 

The temperature in the room soars. His eyes crackle like embers of a fireplace might be reflected in his gaze as her tongue flits against the edge of his thumb before letting it go.

 

“Then don’t,” she whispers. “Don’t say no.”

 

With a barely restrained growl, he gives in. The crackle of electricity is so strong it feels like thunder might follow. And maybe it does. Maybe they create their own storm as they crash together.

 

Alex grabs her, yanking her against him, his mouth slanting over hers, every ounce of passion for her filling the moment. She meets him every inch of the way, kissing him with a ferocity that shakes her to her core.

 

His hands are everywhere all at once, tracing the lines of her body like he’s trying to memorize them. And, _yes_ , she wants that. She wants him everywhere, _craves_ it, needing his thumb grazing across her breast, his hot hand flattened against her back before he grabs her ass, hauling her up into his arms. He peppers wet, open kisses down her jaw and neck, his lips sucking at her collarbone. She wants everything at once, aches for him in every single way, and it’s mind-blowing how desperately she needs him.

 

It’s physical, but it’s so much more, she realizes, as a piece deep inside her settles into place.

 

Fear slices through her. She can handle her physical need for him, that’s easy. Simple. _Uncomplicated_. Not the other part. Not that.

 

Jules forces herself to focus on his touch, on the way his fingers make her shiver, how his lips are soft and warm and how she whimpers when he tastes her skin.

 

It works. Sensation overwhelms her, pulling her under.

 

“Alex,” she gasps, wrapping her arms around his head as he nips and licks his way back up her neck. “Don’t stop.”

 

He answers her unspoken plea with a whisper of her name, his fingers digging into her back.

 

Jules dips her head to find his lips again, gripping his shirt with both hands, twisting it in tight fists. This kiss is even fiercer, more demanding, and he meets her in kind. And god, she loves that he does, that he gives as good he gets.

 

He spreads one hand wide against her ass, pressing her flush against him as his other tugs furiously at her bra. When it finally gives he doesn’t bother tugging it off yet, shoving his hand up under the lacey cup to find her breast. She fits perfectly in his large hand and she shivers before he finds her barely-tightened nipple and rolls it between his thumb and forefinger.

 

Jules cries out his name into his mouth.

 

“You like that?” he rasps, squeezing it harder as he walks her backward toward his sofa. “You like my hands on you? Inside you? ‘Cause I do, but not as much as my tongue.”

 

“Oh _god_ ,” she moans, digging her fingers into the back of his neck. “God, yes.”

 

“Couldn’t get your taste out of my mind, Julianna,” he says as the backs of her knees hit his sofa. She’d have toppled if he wasn’t holding her up. “I can still taste you, smell you. I close my eyes and see the look on your face as you come saying my name. You’re making things real hard on me, chica.”

 

“Just fuck me,” she begs, her voice breaking. “It’s not that hard. Just take me to bed and fuck me every way you can think of, Alex.”

 

“I’m not gonna take you fully ‘til you offer me _all_ of you, Julianna,” he reminds her.

 

Her frustration flares - he is exactly as stubborn as she is. But he doesn’t give her a chance to snap at him, urging her back onto the sofa. She watches from under heavy lids as he slides down her body, his fingers hooking in her bra straps, pulling it down with him. His eyes darken at the sight of her breasts and he dips down, flicking his tongue over her neglected nipple. Jules presses herself further into his mouth, shoving her hands into his hair, and he doesn’t disappoint. He wraps his lips around her, slipping a hand underneath her to press her even closer as he nips and sucks and all around drives her so crazy that she almost comes undone right there, just like that.

 

God, _how_ …

 

A slew of unintelligible words fall from her lips and she wraps her legs around his waist, arching up to get friction where she needs it.

 

He doesn’t let her. Not yet.

 

Alex releases her with a pop and the air is cool against her wet skin. He looks up at her and she shivers at the intensity in his eyes. He’s gorgeous, but when he looks at her like that - like he wants to eat her up - he takes her breath away.

 

“For now, though,” he says, his voice low and gritty. “I’m gonna content myself with making your thighs clench around my head while you scream my name. That good with you?”

 

Her answer is a low groan and a rapid nod as he undoes her cargo pants and starts tugging them down. Jules twists her fingers in his hair as she lifts her ass off the sofa for him to pull them off along with her underwear. He pauses long enough to yank her shoes off and then she’s completely naked. It’s a heady thing being bared to him when he’s still dressed, and it has more warmth flooding between her thighs. His nostrils flare like he can smell her arousal as he tugs her knees up over his shoulders. Jules pants with anticipation, her back arching against his sofa, her eyes hooded, her nipples tingling as they harden to the point of pain.

 

Alex’s eyes never leave her face and the way he looks at her - like she’s the most incredible woman he’s ever laid eyes on - it strikes her right to the core of her being.

 

Another piece deep inside her slips into place, but she pushes the feeling away again.

 

It helps that Alex doesn’t waste a single second.

 

With a deep inhale of her, he buries his tongue between her folds. Every nerve ending she has sings with the beauty of his mouth against her. Her whole body jumps at the contact, her heels digging hard into his back as she lets out a breathy, “Yes, yes, _yes.”_

 

“You taste so good,” he rasps, licking her one last time before grabbing her hips and tugging her down for better access. It barely takes a second, but she still whines at the lack of contact until he pins her arching hips with his forearm, using his other hand to spread open her slick folds. Her hands scramble for purchase, one fisting his hair, the other grabbing the back of the sofa as he dips down again, whispering something that she can’t hear before sliding his tongue from her opening up to her clit and back.

 

She is not quiet. She is never quiet.

 

Jules tugs on his hair, bucking against his face, words falling from her in a mess of moans and gasps that get louder with each passing minute - “ _There_. Right there. Fuck. Harder…!” - until her voice is bouncing off the walls.

 

She’d already been on edge when she’d gotten here, her body buzzing with need, and it doesn’t take long before before she’s gripping his hair too hard and riding his chin as he sucks on her clit.

 

Every muscle in her coils tighter and tighter, her fingernails digging into his scalp, her shoulders pressing back against the sofa cushion, forcing her body into an arch right in front of him. She’s frozen like that, breath held and utterly soundless…

 

Right up until she breaks.

 

Jules comes with thunderous force, a long-held scream of his name on her lips as her body thrusts mindlessly against him. He doesn’t relent, his tongue riding her clit until she can’t stand it, and then he slides down, plunging his tongue into her depths, drinking in every drop of her essence that she gives him.

 

For the longest moment she just hovers there, feeling absolutely perfect.

 

“Oh my God,” she moans as she comes back down. “You’re so fucking good at that.”

 

He grins. With a soft kiss to her swollen folds, he abandons his worship of her womanhood and climbs up her body until they’re nose-to-nose on the sofa.

 

“You’re incredible,” Jules breathes, tracing her nails up and down the back of his neck. She brushes her nose against his, nuzzling him, her mind too fuzzed out to realize what she’s doing. She just _needs_ this, to touch him, to feel him. She closes her eyes before she can see the longing look he gives her, before he buries his face against her neck, breathing her in with a soft moan. He shivers as her fingers slip over his skin, dipping under the collar of his shirt. His hair is soft against her cheek and she turns into him. “You make me _feel_ incredible,” she clarifies, her nail gently scraping across each vertebrae of his neck. Her lips find his ear. “I’d really like to make you feel incredible, too.”

 

Alex clenches his eyes shut and breathes out a long, slow exhale against her skin.

 

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” she reminds him.

  
Even as the words come out, she knows it won’t work. That doesn’t stop her from wanting it. The desire to see him go hoarse with her name on his lips as he spills himself inside her… It’s startling. Because what she wants is to see him as happy as possible, completely sated by her and her alone. She wants to see his face tighten in total ecstasy and know it’s _her_ that did that to him. She wants him to fall apart and for her to be there to catch him.

 

Her heart pounds at the thought, with fear, but also with longing, and the words linger on the tip of her tongue but she’s too scared to voice them.

 

“That’s the problem,” Alex says, pulling back to look at her. Jules presses her lips together tightly and he runs a finger over the corner of her mouth. “I can’t say no to you. Not really. I’m weak. But I’ve done the casual thing before and that’s not what I want. I’m gonna do anything you want me to… _for you_ . I can’t say no. I don’t even want to. But, Julianna, I’m not gonna really be with you until I can be with _all_ of you. Heart, head, body, and soul.”

 

“You’re really not gonna let me touch you until we go on a date?” she asks.

 

“I’m really not,” he says. “At first, it was just that I didn’t wanna do the casual thing with anyone, but now… It’s you. I want all of you, Julianna.”

 

“I don’t have anything else to give,” Jules whispers, unable to hide the vulnerability threading her voice. “The rest of me is broken.”

 

“You got the pieces,” he replies, kissing her shoulder. “It’s okay you’re still putting them back together. Take your time. I’ll be here waiting whenever you do.”

 

‘ _Never,’_ she wants to warn him. _‘I don’t get to put myself back together. Not with_ him _gone. Not even if I want to_.’

 

“I should leave,” she says instead and nudges him off of her.

 

“You shouldn’t,” Alex replies, even as she grabs her underwear off the floor where he tossed them. It’s still rain-soaked. All of her clothes are. “You should let me put your clothes in the washer, take a shower to warm up, and then watch the game with me underneath my nice, comfy blanket.”

 

Jules stares at him.

 

“Or you can put on cold, soggy clothes and walk somewhere else.” He shrugs, leaning back. “Your choice, I guess.”

 

She scoffs. “They’re not _that_ bad.”

 

He answers by picking up her cargo pants and wringing them out over the tile. The bastard doesn’t even look to see the water splattering. He just raises his eyebrows at her.

 

Jules bites the tip of her tongue, wanting to grab them and wrestle them on just to show him, but his point is undeniable.

 

“Fine,” she finally relents.

 

“Good to know you can listen to reason.” He grins, daring to kiss her even as she glares at him. It’s half-hearted at best and they both know it. Which annoys her and leads her to pout through the kiss. It only makes him chuckle when he backs off. “I got the laundry,” he tells her. “Go hop in the shower. You hungry?”

 

“You’re feeding me _again_?” she asks.

 

“Just making myself some nachos for the game,” he replies. Despite the fact that she’s fully nude on his sofa, he’s looking only at her eyes. There’s something thrilling about that, something affectionate and considerate, and it has warmth blossoming in the pit of her stomach. “Figured you might want some, too.”

 

“I could eat,” she says. “Especially if you’ve got more of that salsa.”

 

“Chica, I _always_ have more of that salsa.” That damn grin of his grows and the wink he tosses her way has her traitorous heart doing a flip-flop. She bites the inside of her lip and shakes her head, fighting down a blush. “Go take a shower,” he adds, squeezing her thigh, “or just towel off and get comfy or something.”

 

She can’t quite fight the moan that slips out at the feeling of his warm palm on her skin, though she tries.

 

Before he can say anything about it, Jules nods. “Shower.”

 

“Okay,” he says. “Towel’s in there. Grab whatever you’d like to wear. The TV in my room is paused on the game. I’ll meet you back there with some food in a bit, okay?”

 

“Yeah,” she agrees, allowing him to give her a hand up. “Sounds like a plan.”

 

His eyes linger on her as she heads out of the room, and she pretends not to notice the burn of awareness that lingers as she goes. It’s only when she reaches the bathroom that she lets herself feel it, shivering under the delightful tingling sensation that’s spread out across her body. How did she wind up here a second night in a row? That’s not something she wants to think about, at all, so she doesn’t.

 

Instead, she cleans up.

 

But the second she steps into his shower, everything stops.

 

There’s a brand new bottle of strawberry-scented body wash that hadn’t been there before.

 

_It’s for her._

 

She knows that on sight. It’s definitely not meant for him and while they haven’t talked about it, she’s almost positive there aren’t any other women in his life right now. He’s been pretty clear about the sort of relationship he wants and that’s the kind that means being exclusive.

 

And buying fruity soap for that exclusive person.

 

She shouldn’t use it. Maybe accepting that is a bit too much like accepting his terms, allowing this to become something _more_.

 

But then she pops open the lid and takes whiff. The scent washes over her and from there it’s almost not even a conscious choice to use the body wash he got her. It’s just something she does. Sort of like just showing up at his doorstep in the pouring rain or just dancing with the intent to tease him.

 

By the time she’s washed and toweled off, he’s still not back in his room.

 

With a sense of deja vu, she rifles through his closet, settling on a t-shirt for a sports team she doesn’t recognize and a pair of workout shorts that she has to roll at the waist so they don’t fall off her hips. She climbs onto his bed, sitting cross-legged, feeling a little dumb sitting there by herself, waiting for him, although she’s not uncomfortable. Which tells her things she’d rather keep ignoring. Instead she stares at the game paused on his TV. It’s soccer, something she knows absolutely nothing about beyond the fact that they kick around a ball and the players have really great calves.

 

“Hey,” Alex says as he finally joins her holding a platter of nachos in one hand and a pair of beers in the other. “I figured maybe we could just share.”

 

The words are soft and a little bashful, matching the shy smile on his lips. The urge to reach out and hold onto him with both hands strikes her with such swiftness she almost gives into it, into the need to tell him that none of her reluctance has anything at all to do with him.

 

He’s been wonderful. Maddeningly perfect, even. And maybe that’s made her hold back even more.

 

“Yeah,” she says before giving him a faux-stink eye. “As long as you don’t leave me with the soggy ones.”

 

Real offense covers his face as he crosses the room and settles next to her on the bed. “I do not make soggy nachos.”

 

“The ones at the bottom are _always_ soggy,” she retorts, turning to face him.

 

“Not when you bake the cheese onto the chips in the oven, woman. Where have you been eating nachos?”

 

“Not the right places, apparently,” she replies.

 

“I’m gonna ruin you for nachos anywhere else,” he promises.

 

Jules nods, whispering, “You are.”

 

She’s looking at him when she says it, not the plate he sets between them, something he only notices when he hands her one of the beers. Alex freezes at whatever he sees on her face, and Jules’ heart leaps into her throat as time just… stops. It’s a moment that has life all on its own. It lives and breathes, shifting the air. Fear and anticipation tighten her chest, making her next breath a little harder than it should be. But she doesn’t look away, not until she recognizes the hope shining in his eyes.

 

“Uh…” She blinks, looking down at his hands. She takes a deep gulp of her beer before glancing back at the television. “So you’re, what? Like one quarter into the game?”

 

The beat of silence that follows is the only sign that he knows exactly what she’s doing. Or, rather, what she’s avoiding. And he lets it slide, thank God, and her next breath is easier.

 

“Quarter?” Alex scoffs. “This is soccer.”

 

“Soccer doesn’t do quarters?” she asks. “I know it’s not innings.”

 

“I know sports ain’t really your thing, but you don’t know _soccer_?”

 

“Not my wheelhouse,” Jules admits. “Baseball, yes. And I can follow football. But my soccer experience is limited to comparing which players have the best butts with some girls from my old dance troupe.”

 

He’s quiet for a moment and she turns to find him staring at her. She’s not sure if it’s because that’s her soccer knowledge limit or because she shared something with him. She has a feeling it’s the latter, and that’s crossing right into the territory she wants to avoid, so she smirks at him.

 

“Don’t worry, Alejandro,” she says, taking another sip of her beer. “Yours is better than any of the asses onscreen right now.”

 

He huffs out a noise of disbelief at her and shakes his head. “Dios mio, woman,” he says as he sets his beer down on his nightstand.

 

“I’m not wrong.” She grins, eyeing him from head-to-toe. When she notices his cheeks are pinker than before, she has to both fight the urge to feel damn pleased and to stop from teasing him. She looks back at the screen. “So, you gonna teach me about soccer or what?”

 

“C’mere,” he says, grabbing the plate and leaning back against the headboard. He opens his arms and spreads his legs, tilting his head at the space in front of him.

 

She doesn’t pause to wonder why there isn’t an ounce of hesitation in her as she takes the invitation, resting her back against his front. Or why she lets him wrap his arms around her, placing the nachos on her lap where they can both easily reach. Or why she fits against him so nicely, like he was specifically designed for her.

 

That has a tiny spasm of fear rearing its head, but this time it’s Alex who distracts her from it.

 

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m gonna teach you about soccer.”

 

And he does. She’s a quick study and finds she actually enjoys it. She cheers on his favorite team and curses out the referees whenever they make a call she dislikes - which is every time it’s against her newly favored team. It’s better because he chuckles softly every time she gets energetic, the rumble of his voice resonating against her back. And when she settles down again he wraps his arms around her, his fingers rubbing gentle circles against her hip. He’s warm and firm and so very comfortable. It’s dangerous how much she enjoys this, how much just sitting on his bed with him eating snacks and relaxing in his arms while they watch sports together feels _right_.

 

“You smell so good,” he mumbles against her skin during a commercial break, pressing his nose into the crook of her neck.

 

“Well, you picked out the body wash,” she points out, tilting her head so she can catch a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye.

 

“It ain’t the body wash,” he counters, dropping a kiss on her shoulder. “Not really. It’s you. I’m so damned hooked on you, woman.”

 

_He isn’t the only one._

 

Jules closes her eyes, pressing her head into his. He takes her silence in stride, simply holding her, looking back at the TV when the commercials end. She steals a second to glance up at him, her eyes tracing his strong jaw, the stubble there, the way his lips part with a short inhale when something happens on the screen.

 

He catches her, and when he looks down, she doesn’t look away, even when the tiniest smile pulls at the corners of his mouth as he asks, “What?”

 

She responds by curling her hand around the back of his neck and pulling him down for a kiss.

 

It’s quiet, the complete opposite of their usual passion, but no less impactful.

 

The now-empty plate of nachos winds up on the floor, their beers on his nightstand as they entangle themselves in each other. The game fades into the background as they wind up side-by-side, legs intertwined, arms wrapped around each other, kissing lazily. Warmth pools in the pit of her stomach, a hint of the familiar heat that seems to live under the surface of her skin whenever she’s around him, but it doesn’t boil over. There’s no push from either of them to progress things toward the removal of clothes or an escalation toward sexual release.

 

It just… is.

 

And it makes her feel special, like she’s the only thing in the world that matters to him.

 

She needs that, so badly it aches. And not just the feeling of it, but that it’s _him_. It’s Alex. For the first time in years she feels like she’s alive, like she’s breathing again, like she’s seeing the world in color, and…

 

Joy collides with guilt inside her and with a muted sob she breaks away from him, pressing her forehead to his, her eyes slamming shut.

 

He takes that it in stride, just like everything. He holds her, rubbing his hand up and down her back in a soothing motion, which only makes it _worse_.

 

But she doesn’t pull away from him. She can’t.

 

No… she doesn’t want to.

 

“This is hard for you,” Alex notes, his hand coming up to stroke her cheek. “I know. This ain’t what you expected. And I think you need a lot more from this thing between us than you thought you did.”

 

“Maybe,” she admits in a voice so quiet even she barely hears it.

 

The way his fingers still against her face and the barely-there sigh from him tells her that he heard, though.

 

Part of her wants to let go of him. But the rest wants so badly to cling to him and it’s the part that has her hands gripping his shirt, keeping her face pressed to his.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jules whispers. “I wish I were more… I don’t know. Just more.”

 

He grunts in response, a vaguely annoyed noise. He doesn’t tell her that she doesn’t need to be more, that she’s enough just as she is, but she knows he’s thinking it. She’s _sure_ of it. And that certainty alone speaks volumes about their fledgling relationship.

 

So does the fact that she’s thinking of this as a relationship.

 

“You switch hands after he died?”

 

Jules frowns, pulling back to look at him with a silent question in her eye, but he’s already nodding to her right hand.

 

 _Oh_.

 

Her heart stops.

 

“Your ring,” he clarifies, unnecessarily.

 

She looks down at it, half to break his pitying gaze and half to remind herself that the ring is there, on her finger where it’s meant to be. It’s a small thing, nowhere near big enough to be a family heirloom. And it’s more simple than something she would’ve picked out for herself. But it’s perfect anyhow. Perfect and simple. Just like her relationship with Jackson had been. She’d have worn that tiny solitaire on her left hand with so much pride and happiness, had she been given the chance.

 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Alex says after a long moment. It’s only then that she realizes she’s been silent for quite some time. “I just thought-”

 

“No,” she interrupts, even as her chest tightens, even as her voice shakes. “I didn’t switch hands.”

 

Alex nods, looking back at it, running his hand up and down her arm. “Looks an awful lot like an engagement ring to me,” he says.

 

“Yeah,” Jules agrees, swallowing heavily. “I found it in his drawer after he died. He never got a chance to ask me.”

 

“I see.” His face is serious and sympathetic. It’s so genuine that she doesn’t know what to do, or how to take it. “He’s a lucky man to have had a girl like you who loved him so much.”

 

“Lucky?” Jules laughs. It’s a pained noise, a little too much like broken glass. “He’s lucky? He died for me, Alex. He died because he didn’t know I could do anything to protect myself. I kept that from him. And now… now here I am with you wearing a ring he never gave me.”

 

“You feel like you’re doing him wrong by being with me. By being with anyone,” Alex says. “I don’t think that’s true.”

 

“Of course it is,” Jules replies, letting him go. “How could moving on… _replacing him_ ever not be a betrayal?”

 

“It would be,” Alex agrees. It’s the last thing she expects him to say and it plunges the knife deeper. Jules shakes her head, moving to sit up, but he doesn’t let her. “But that ain’t what you’re doing.”

 

“Then what?” she demands. “What is it that you think I’m doing?”

 

“You’re living your life,” he answers, looking at her like he can’t believe she hasn’t realized this. “You’re learnin’ to walk beside your grief instead of letting it weigh you down by carrying it on your back. Caring about someone else too doesn’t mean you love him any less. Whether that gets to be me or not, I hope you figure out the truth of that.”

“Ha,” she chokes out, the sound wet and bitter. “What man is going to want to share a woman’s heart with her dead boyfriend?”

 

Alex takes a moment to answer, and instead of making her want to jump away from this entire situation as fast as she can, she finds herself wanting to stay. _Needing_ to stay. She needs the answer to that question, and not just from anyone.

 

_From him._

 

“Any man worth your time, Julianna,” he finally says. “Any man who knows how rare it is to find a woman with a heart so big that she wears a ring like that three years later. It ain’t every day you can find a woman who loves that deeply, you know. You’re special.”

 

Tears fill her eyes. “I don’t feel special,” she says. “I feel… I feel like there’s a hole inside my heart that’s never going to be filled. And it shouldn’t be. He deserves to be there still. That part of me belongs to him.”

 

He leans back, silent, just watching her for a moment. He’s taking his time, which tells her the gravity he puts on this, although she knew he would. Alex isn’t flippant, or dismissive, that’s not who he is at all. But still… it’s nice to see it.

 

Even if it does start to take too long.

 

The silence starts to weigh on her, and she’s already uneasy enough, the scabs she’d slapped over her wounds starting to ache from being laid bare.

 

“Just say it,” Jules snaps, wrapping her arms around herself. “Whatever it is, just spit it out.”

 

However the words that come next are nothing she would have expected from him.

 

“I think you oughta talk to your brother.”

 

Her eyebrows shoot up. “My _brother_? You mean Will?”

 

“Yeah, I mean Will,” Alex confirms. “I think you need to ask him about his mom. I think you should talk to him about how hard it was to lose her and still have a mother in your mom, how that made him feel. I know it ain’t the same thing, but it’s not as different as you think. He loves your mother just like she’s his own and that doesn’t do a thing to make his mom mean less to him.”

 

“That is… a very different sort of feeling than what we’re talking about,” she points out.

 

“Yup,” he agrees. “But the same idea applies. And when you give it some thought, I think you’ll know that.”

 

Maybe. He lets her mull it over, watches her as her eyes drift down to his chest, to where her fingers have curled into his shirt again.

 

When had they done that?

 

It takes her too long to realize that she’s more concerned about when she’d moved closer to him again than what he’d just said, and the implications behind it, but Alex sees it.

 

“C’mon,” he says, saving her from having to answer. He flips off the television, plunging the room into darkness. “It’s been a long day. Let’s get some sleep.”

 

“But we missed the end of the game,” she protests, trying to ignore how her voice drags with sleepiness. “I want to know who won.”

 

“Twisters won,” he replies pulling back the covers. “Two to nothin’.”

 

“How do you know?” she demands, moving so that she’s under the comforter.

 

“It’s an old game, Julianna,” he tells her, and she can hear the smile in his voice. “Kind of a famous one. It got us in the playoffs.”

 

“Oh,” Jules says. She’s a little bummed it’s old, but that doesn’t dull her happiness that her newly self-appointed favorite team won. “Well… good, then. I like the Twisters. I like storms.”

 

He huffs out a laugh as he crawls under the blanket with her. “I’m not surprised.”

 

They get situated, winding up with her back to his chest. He draws her close, spooning her from behind. Jules snuggles back into him, earning a happy little moan from him. She settles further into his embrace, her heavy lids finally slipping shut. She licks her lips, wincing when she tastes the remnants of beer. She should get up and brush her teeth, she thinks, but… but it’s just so far away, and it’s so _warm_ here…

 

Alex lets out a wide yawn before dropping a kiss on her shoulder. “You are a storm, Julianna,” he whispers, his breath rustling her hair. “Mi pequeña tormenta.”

 

“Oh…” she replies as he drifts off, letting out a quiet snore. “You have no idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised - https://docs.google.com/document/d/175vybaO1QSJ-e9lma0xu_MngmEPNLwP9QuK2N30dQIk/edit


	17. Chapter 17

The ski mask itches. 

 

Alex thought he’d be used to it by now, but in the past week and a half of wearing it every night he’s not working, it hasn’t happened. The dark wool fabric is uncomfortable and sweaty, and it doesn’t stay lined up with his eyes. But that doesn’t stop him from putting it on night after night, and he doesn’t intend to quit anytime soon. 

 

She’s worth it. 

 

Other than that first time - the night he’d followed her, knocking a gun from that woman’s hands and possibly saving Julianna’s life - he doesn’t think she’s spotted him. Neither has her sister. Her father, however… Alex is pretty sure her father sees him every single time. The man’s sense of his surroundings is nearly supernatural. It doesn’t matter how far back Alex stays or how hard he tries to blend into the shadows, Oliver Queen’s masked eyes lock with his every single time. 

 

So far, though, The Arrow has done nothing about his continued presence, nothing but watch and wait. It’s jarring. Alex expected to be cornered and unmasked the second he was spotted, but it hasn’t happened, and he finds himself wondering why more and more each night. 

 

Or he has until tonight. Tonight, he has much bigger concerns. 

 

He can’t find Tempest - he can’t find his Julianna - and it has his head spinning with worry. 

 

If something happened to her, how would he find out? From the news? Would he figure it out when she stopped showing up with a six pack of beer and a bad excuse most nights? Would Will tell him two days later with no clue what it means to him? Would Sara call him? Would Javi? 

 

His chest tightens so much that he can’t breathe. 

 

He needs her safe. He needs to  _ know _ she’s safe. Understanding why she does what she does, that it’s a part of her, a piece of her family legacy… that’s one thing. But not having a window into that part of her life? That’s another. 

 

Jules is an easy woman to fall for. She draws you in effortlessly, leaving you feeling like you’ve been hypnotized by her outspoken bravado and thinly veiled emotional torrent. She’s captivated him from the first time he saw her. 

 

Not in the same way, of course. Back then, he’d been witness to the worst day of her life, watching helplessly as she became a conduit of pure grief and rage. Doing what he does, he’s seen a lot of people lose loved ones. He’s seen every reaction under the sun. But he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone express it so harshly, with such raw, unfiltered emotion. Back then, he’d thought his best friend was gonna lose his little sister. Coming back from pain that brutal seemed unimaginable. 

 

But that’s exactly what she’s done, and somehow that’s even more entrancing. 

 

She has scraped and clawed her way back toward being okay, all the while holding on to what she lost. The burden of that has to be astounding, but the capacity of her heart is blinding and her drive for justice is contagious. Everything about her - from her striking blue eyes and toned, womanly figure to her snarky sense of humor and the fathomless feelings she fails to hide - feeds a craving he has to be a part of her life, to know her better and discover more about her. 

 

From the time two years ago that Will told him,  _ “She laughed again today,” _ like it was some kind of miracle, he’d known he was far too invested in the life of a woman he didn’t even know. And now? With not only knowing her, but with her honing in on him, opening herself up bit by bit? 

 

God, he’s so hooked he can’t ever imagine going back. 

 

Which is why he needs to keep her safe. 

 

But to do that, he needs to find her. 

 

It’s been a long time since Alex took martial arts and even then it’s not like he was a master at it, but he carries a baston anyhow. It’s the weapon he’s always felt most comfortable with, a two and a half foot long rattan stick. It’s not gonna do a damned thing against a gun, which is the reason he also has one of those tucked in his waistband, but it’s a lot better than just a fist for close-quarter-combat. 

 

Saying he’s uncomfortable pulling on a mask and walking the city streets at night looking for trouble, would be a massive understatement. It’s dangerous. He doesn’t feel in control at all and he’s on his own. But it’s worth it if it means he can get a drop on someone endangering his girl’s life. He’ll keep this up as long as he has to if it means he can stand guard over her and keep her breathing. 

 

But tonight, she’s nowhere and he’s quickly losing his mind trying to find her. 

 

“Did you try calling her?” 

 

Alex damned near jumps out of his skin at the voice, whirling around to see The Arrow standing just two feet away from him in the dingy alleyway. 

 

_ Where the hell did he come from? _

 

Alex has no idea. The roof maybe? Possibly he scaled the twelve foot solid brick wall at the end of the alley? Maybe he materialized out of thin air? It feels as possible as the rest. The man’s a ghost when he wants to be. 

 

It’s only when the hooded vigilante taps his baston that Alex realizes he’s defensively pointing his weapon at the other man. The Arrow brushes it aside with ease, flicking his wrist in the process, just enough to almost rip it from Alex’s fingers. He doesn’t, though, almost like he’s playing with him.

 

Alex narrows his eyes, but he wisely keeps silent.

 

“You saved her that first night,” The Arrow says. “You might’ve saved both my girls. Because of that, I’ve held back and given you a chance to talk to her about this on your own. But you haven’t, have you?”

 

Alex’s silence is answer enough and the long-suffering look of paternal disappointment on The Arrow’s face has him feeling like a kid again. He probably would’ve been fine if it was just him and Oliver Queen, but that look from beneath that mask is unnerving. 

 

For the first time in a long time, Alex is uneasy under the other man’s scrutiny. 

 

“Does Will know what you’re doing?” The Arrow asks him, his voice cutting. Alex jolts at the question - he’d really thought he’d done a good job of masking his identity - but Oliver isn’t done. “No, of course he doesn’t. He’s got no idea about any of this.”

 

“You know who I am?” Alex asks. 

 

“Yeah, I know who you are, Alex,” The Arrow replies. Alex’s heart races as he just stares at him, his jaw hanging open. “Just like you know who I am. I didn’t know you knew my daughter, though. And I definitely didn’t know you were in love with her.”

 

A shock of panic races through Alex at those words. Not because he hasn’t thought them; he has, and he remembers the exact moment he’d realized it. 

 

Sometime earlier in the week Jules had wound up at his place again, letting him hold her while they laughed over Saturday Night Live. She’d teased him mercilessly about his completely rational dislike for the whole concept of sushi, holding up a bite teasingly in front of his face as he wrinkled his nose. Grossed out by raw fish or not, he’d still pinned her to the sofa and kissed those laughing lips. 

 

_ I love you _ , he’d thought as her amusement resonated through him.  _ I love everything about you. I love this. I want more of it _ .

 

This thing with them is young and oh-so-fragile still, but he knows what he feels. He just hasn’t said it aloud. 

 

And he definitely hadn’t expected to hear it from her father. 

 

“Ah.” The Arrow shakes his head. “She doesn’t know that yet either, does she?”

 

“She ain’t ready to know that,” Alex replies. It’s as close to an admission as he’ll allow. “That’s fine. She’s got time. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

 

“Maybe not on purpose.”

 

“What the hell’s that mean?” 

 

“You know how to use this thing?” The Arrow asks, tapping the end of the baston again. “Or the pistol tucked in your belt?” 

 

Alex straightens his shoulders. “I got some experience.”

 

“I don’t mean a couple of stripes you earned at the local YMCA,” Oliver retorts. 

 

“All due respect, sir,” Alex tells him, “but how about you let me worry about me.”

 

“Sure,” The Arrow replies, his voice hardening even more. “And what am I going to tell my daughter when I find your body in the street one day because I let you worry about you.”

 

“I can take care of myself.”

 

The Arrow tilts his head, his voice lowering. “You sure about that?”

 

It’s a challenge, one that sizzles the air, letting Alex know exactly who he’s dealing with. A trickle of fear slithers down his spine and he realizes too late that he’s gripping the baston, even though he  _ knows _ Oliver won’t do anything. Still, the threat is there. Some part of him recognizes what the older man is doing, but the rest of him wants to give into his fight-or-flight reflexes. Alex thinks he’s ready for  _ most _ fights, but he’s definitely not prepared to go up against The Arrow.

 

“I ain’t gonna fight you,” Alex tells him, yanking his mask up so he can actually breathe. He locks eyes with the imposing figure of his lover’s father. “I got more sense than that.”

 

“Well…” Oliver drawls. “That’s something anyhow.”

 

“Hey,” Alex protests, feeling more than a little insulted. 

 

“Alex, I like you,” the older man tells him. The amount of relief that hits Alex at those words takes him by surprise; he’s more pleased to hear that than he’d have ever expected. “You’ve been a good friend to my son for a very long time. You serve the city and help keep people safe. You saved my ass and let me stay at my daughter’s side during one of the hardest moments of her life. You clearly care about my little girl, but you are not ready for these streets. Not like this.”

 

“I’ve done okay so far,” Alex replies. “Tempest hasn’t even spotted me. Neither has Dart.”

 

“Yeah,” Oliver agrees. Even behind the mask, Alex can see the other man’s features twisting. “And that’s something I’m gonna have to talk to both of them about because they should have. But, kid… I didn’t find you today by tracking  _ you _ down.”

 

“What?” Alex frowns. “What’s that mean?”

 

The hammer of a gun being pulled back answers before Oliver can.

 

It echoes from behind them and Alex flinches, but it’s too late. Whoever it is stands too far away and by the time the sound reaches them, the trigger is already pulled. The gunshot explodes and Alex’s heart shifts into high gear, hammering at his chest plate, flooding his body with adrenaline. It’s only because of last-minute instinct that he even thinks about tackling Oliver to the ground, all his training suddenly kicking in, but it’s too little, too late.

 

Something The Arrow is already aware of.

 

A strong hand grabs Alex’s jacket and yanks him out of the way. It’s not fast enough to escape the heat of the bullet that goes right past his ear. Alex  _ feels _ the burning heat of it and he shouts in surprise and pain as the bullet clips his baston before lodging itself in the wall with a spray of broken brick.

 

Oliver’s already moving. 

 

He steps back into the path the bullet had taken as the hammer gets pulled again and he flings something at a person behind them. It’s so fast that Alex swears it happens before he can blink, because he barely sees anything and then the sound of a body hitting the ground suddenly echoes through the alleyway.

 

Alex whips around in time to see the large figure slump over, what looks like a flechette sticking out of the guy. Probably some kind of dart, some small part of him rationalizes, something strong to knock him out fast, because he’s definitely not dead.

 

Not like Alex would have been if he’d been alone.

 

“Dios mio,” he breathes. He hadn’t even seen the man. Hadn’t  _ heard _ him. Everything in him had been perfectly content thinking they were alone; thinking  _ he _ was alone. But… 

 

Alex turns back to find Oliver watching him silently. His ear burns where the bullet had whipped by and he touches the spot, expecting blood, but there’s nothing. But it still hurts, which tells him just how close that bullet had come. “You knew he was there?” Alex demands.

 

Of course he did.

 

The Arrow’s face is blank, but for a split second Alex thinks he sees the strain of what just happened weighing him down before it disappears a second later.

 

This was a  _ lesson _ .

 

“You wandered past a drug deal back on 52nd,” Oliver finally says. “You didn’t even see it, but they saw you. And they thought you saw them. A man wandering around in a ski mask pretending to play vigilante? They weren’t going to let that slide. They were probably going to make an example out of you.”

 

Alex’s heart is beating so hard he can barely breathe. All he can do is listen.

 

“The only reason you’re alive right now, Alex,” Oliver continues, “is that I just so happened to be tracking one of them and I caught up to them just before they came in here. When you walk out of this alley, you’re going to find five unconscious guys with their guns drawn. Coming after  _ you _ . And they would’ve gotten you because you didn’t even know you were in danger.”

 

Instinct has him wanting to deny that, despite everything. It’s a gut reaction, a primal urge to insist he was never in mortal danger. He hadn’t felt or heard or seen a single thing earlier… 

 

Which is exactly the problem.

 

“And him?” Alex asks, his voice thick, gesturing to the body behind him.

 

“Contingency plan,” The Arrow replies. “More masks on the street, bad guys get smarter.”

 

Alex closes his eyes, inhaling too quickly. His throat is ashy and he coughs, but it only makes the feeling worse.

 

He almost died. He’s almost died a lot of times before. His job isn’t exactly safe and he’s come closer to the brink more times than he can count, whether it was from a fire or from someone he was trying to pull to safety who didn’t know how to think clearly in life-or-death situations. Fire he can handle, as much as it can be handled, but this…

 

He has a whole new appreciation for people reacting as they do when they’re in situations they are just not naturally equipped to handle.

 

“Alex…” 

 

Oliver pulls back his hood and tugs his mask off. 

 

Alex starts, and not just because of the rings of green smeared around the other man’s eyes, but because he trusts him so implicitly. It’s one thing to know who he is, another to see it. To have it shown to him. 

 

Oliver grips Alex’s shoulder, staring him in the eye. “I don’t know what’s between you and my daughter and I don’t need to,” he says. “But I watched my little girl come back from losing one person she cared about and it almost destroyed her. I don’t want to have to see that happen again.”

 

That thought wallops Alex. What had he been  _ thinking _ ? He hadn’t been. He’d thought he was safe, away from the action, looking in, watching over. The idea that risking himself out here protecting Jules has the potential to backfire so badly, to put her through some echo of that horrible, unthinkable experience she’s already dealt with once… 

 

It hollows him out. 

 

“If you’re going to be out here being some kind of guardian for my daughter,” Oliver says, “I think you should tell her.”

 

“She don’t need a guard,” Alex says, shaking his head. His voice is clearer talking about Julianna, about the one thing he knows with absolute certainty, and he takes strength from that. “Not really. She can defend herself and I don’t wanna get in the way of that. It’s important to her and I get that.”

 

Oliver is silent, like he knows there’s more.

 

“But,” Alex continues, struggling to put his feelings into words. “I do wanna… I dunno… Watch? Be on hand just in case things get rough?”

 

“Her sentinel,” the older man replies. He huffs out a barely audible chuckle like he’s just realized something. “Okay, Sentinel. I’m not going to make you tell my daughter what you’re doing. I’ll leave that up to you in your own time. But training? That’s non-negotiable. As is an upgrade to your disguise.” Oliver squeezes Alex’s shoulder, going silent for a moment, looking like he’s dealing with his own struggles. But he doesn’t show any of it, not a damn thing. “If you’re doing this, Alex,” he says, “you’re going to be instructed by me.” 

 

To say he’s a little speechless is an understatement. Alex’s head spins as he tries to make sense of everything that’s currently happening.

 

“I ain’t ready to tell her,” he finally says after a lengthy pause. “But I can’t stop looking over her, either. I just need to know she’s okay. I have to. Training, though… I got no objection to learning from you. At all. I’m grateful for the opportunity and I know I’ll learn a lot. But I gotta wonder how that’s gonna work without her findin’ out.”

 

“Doesn’t have to be at the lair,” Oliver replies. “Or the brownstone. Though that would be  _ easier _ . I learned the basics in a cave and the husk of a plane, so…”

 

“Well, we ain’t exactly got those either,” Alex points out. “At least I don’t.”

 

“Is your place an option?” Oliver asks. 

 

Alex almost laughs, his mind jumping to what could happen. What would  _ probably _ happen. There are worse things in the world than secretly training to be a vigilante with your lover’s father only to have her show up with the clear intention of making him take her to bed, unaware that her dad is there. He’s sure there must be, but he’s having a hard time thinking of any at the moment.

 

“Uh…” Alex shakes his head. “Not if we don’t want her findin’ out.”

 

Oliver grunts, and then he nods. “Roy’s place, then,” he decides. 

 

“Harper?” Alex questions. “Your brother-in-law?”

 

“Yeah, he can help,” Oliver says. And then he smirks. “He’ll love watching you slap water.”

 

Alex furrows his brow, certain he misheard that. “Sorry, what?” 

 

“Don’t worry about it.” Oliver smiles, looking entirely too amused for Alex’s comfort, before patting his shoulder. “For now, let’s get out of here. The SCPD are on their way to round these guys up. But I want you to take a look at those men, remember their faces, and realize how close you were to having them be your killers.”

 

The thought is chilling and so incredibly real in that moment that Alex almost vomits. He bites the tip of his tongue, remembering the burn of the bullet going past his head, knowing that if Oliver hadn’t grabbed him, it’d be embedded in the back of his skull instead of the brick wall.

 

“Yeah,” is all he can manage.

 

“That’s a message that needs to stick, son.”

 

It isn’t the message itself that makes Alex jolt this time, it’s being called ‘son.’ It’s comforting in the weirdest way considering the subject, but it does exactly that. It’s comfort, forgiveness, and wisdom. It’s been decades since a man called him that - twenty-six years, in fact, since his father died because of this man’s mother. That’s a wild thought, but wilder still is how reassured he is by the idea that Julianna’s father seems to accept him.

 

He could have made this so much harder had he been so inclined, but instead he’s inviting Alex into his world, into his mission and his life… and into Julianna’s.

 

“Got it?” Oliver asks, bringing Alex back to the moment.

 

“Yeah,” Alex repeats. Just the notion of seeing those men makes his heart race. “Don’t think there’s much risk it won’t.”

 

It’s not like he really has any other option, though. Sirens ring in the distance, urging them to move, and there’s only one way out of the alley. So Alex nods and follows on Oliver’s heels, boots scraping over broken gravel and loose trash as they run toward the street, both of them donning their masks before exiting between the buildings. 

 

Rationally, he knows what to expect. He’s aware of the scene he’ll find when he steps out onto the street, but he’s still not ready for it. 

 

Alex freezes in his tracks, staring down at the five collapsed and bound men littering the sidewalk. There’s a pile of guns nearby, outside their reach. Definitely not the legal sort and no match at all for him alone with a pistol and a wooden stick. 

 

Thinking about what might have happened - what  _ would _ have happened had Oliver not been there - is enough to make Alex nauseous again.

 

“Three of them were already wanted for violent crimes,” Oliver tells him. “Two for murder. One for domestic battery. These are not men you want to be alone in an alley with.”

 

“No,” Alex agrees, looking down at them and trying to rein in his imagination. “No, they are not.”

 

If Oliver hadn’t been there… if he hadn’t stepped in… that would’ve been it. He’d never see his Julianna again, never see his mom again. What would they think? What would Will think? Or Javi and Sara? Would Julianna blame herself? 

 

She would. The immediate certainty behind that has his stomach twisting. She’d blame herself even though it was all his choice, because that’s who she is, because in Jules’ world that’s what it means to let someone in. The things he’d have put her through, the guilt she’d have borne all over again… 

 

His hands start shaking, a lump knotting in his throat. 

 

That he almost did that to her…

 

He can’t stand the thought of it.

 

“Where’s she at?” Alex asks, his eyes still on the bound men who had almost taken everything.

 

“Home,” Oliver answers softly. “I told her to take the night off.”

 

Alex nods and swallows hard before forcing himself to look away. 

 

“Alex,” Oliver says, drawing his attention back. When Alex looks at him, he sees Oliver Queen, not The Arrow. “This time of year is hard for her. For what it’s worth, I’m glad she has you looking out for her. She needs that in more ways than just in the streets from behind a mask… You know that, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Alex whispers. “I know that.”

 

He’s not sure what Oliver is looking for in his face, but whatever it is he must find it. 

 

The older man nods with a satisfied, “Good,” and then he walks off in the other direction, leaving Alex behind.

 

Which is exactly where he wants to be. He should be wanting to talk about more particulars with Oliver, discussing what will happen next and when, but his head is too full right now. He needs to not be  _ here _ . He needs…

 

Alex yanks the ski mask off, shoving it in his pocket before unzipping his jacket, leaving him looking like he’s not wearing any sort of disguise at all. Not that he’s thinking about that, something he’ll only realize later. He’s only thinking about one thing as he jogs to his car and climbs in, pulling out of the tight spot and heading to where his heart is. 

 

He left his alter ego behind in that alleyway, shedding it like a second skin, but instead of the usual feeling of relief and the unspoken desire to don it once more, now he feels cold.

 

_ Exposed.  _

 

He could’ve died tonight. He almost did. The only thing that’d saved him was The Arrow. It wasn’t his instincts or his desire to do good. None of that meant shit in the face of real danger. 

 

He could’ve left her behind. Emotion chokes him as his mind spirals. He’d never feel her laugh against his lips or hear her cry his name or see her roll her eyes and smile at her toes.

 

Nothing. Not ever again. 

 

It’s all he can think about the entire way to her apartment, leaving a latent fear in his veins that has him damn near shaking as he pulls up to her building. 

 

It’s not until he gets to her door and knocks that he realizes she might be surprised to see him. 

 

Surprise, as it turns out, is an understatement. 

 

He knows she sees him through the peephole judging by the confused furrow of her brow as she opens the door. Not that it matters, not that he really sees it at first, because for a split second the reassurance that hits him is overwhelming. He’s here, he gets to see her, and that’s almost enough. The feeling floods his entire being, leaving him shaking even more as she blinks up at him.

 

“What are you doing here?” she asks. “I didn’t even know you knew where I lived.”

 

A thousand responses whip through his mind, his rational side trying to take over, but there isn’t any room for that right now.

 

He just needs her.

 

“This thing we got,” Alex says hoarsely, shoving his hands in his pockets. He blows some air through his lips before licking them. “Does it go both ways?” 

 

“What do you mean?” Jules asks. She’s soaking him in, clearly concerned. That fills him with warmth, and it almost steadies him. It’s nice. Like he’s actually wanted here. It’s even better when she touches his wrist and leans in toward him. “Alex?”

 

“You come to me when you gotta be with someone and I… Can I come to you when I do?” he asks. “‘Cause I just had a real bad day and all I want is to be with you. Do I get to do that?”

 

“Yeah,” she says. She sounds surprised that it’s even a question and she pushes the door open further, tugging a little on his wrist, inviting him into her studio. “Yeah, of course you do.”

 

The relief that hits him at that is substantial. He’d mentally prepared himself to be ready if she said no, he realizes. But she didn’t. Alex breathes out a shuddering sigh as the door shuts behind him and she steps into his space without hesitation, cupping his face before sliding her hands down to his neck. She strokes her thumbs over his skin in soothing patterns and he leans into her, his forehead falling against hers.

 

This is what he almost lost. A choked sound builds in his chest. He almost lost  _ her _ .

 

His whole body sags under her touch.

 

“You want to talk about it?” she asks. 

 

“No,” he replies. “I just wanna hold you for a bit.”

 

“Okay,” Jules says, giving him a soft smile. “Come on.”

 

Her space isn’t big, barely spacious enough for her and her dog. There’s a small kitchenette and a dining table with room for only two chairs. The area meant to be a living space has art supplies littered across it. The bulk of her studio apartment is her sleeping area. 

 

They don’t speak. She sits and tugs him down onto the unmade bed with her. It’s intimate, her inviting him in like this, and he embraces it completely. They lay down in the middle, facing each other. There isn’t any hesitation or question, not right now. They just reach for each other and with a bone-deep sigh, Alex wraps himself around her, finally feeling the sense of peace that’d been stolen from him in the alleyway.

 

No, the one he’d almost given away.

 

The thought has him shuddering and he burrows into her embrace, pressing his face into her neck before needing to see her, to feel her breath on his lips, her nose brushing his. 

 

It’s amazing how the tiniest things ground him when he’s with her.

 

He can feel her concern in the way she touches him, gentle and caring without a trace of intent toward escalating things physically. And, madre de dios, if that doesn’t make him love her all the more. It feels like everything he wants with her, everything he knows they could be together. 

 

She strokes the hair at his temple, pushing her fingers into his hair, drawing lazy circles against his scalp before going back to his temple.

 

If he could melt into her touch, he would.

 

“This helping?” she asks after a moment. 

 

“You always help, Julianna,” he replies. “You got no idea.”

 

She lets out a light laugh. “I don’t know, I’m kind of a pain in the ass.”

 

“No, you aren’t,” he counters, pressing his forehead to hers again. “You’re strong and vibrant and breathtaking and beautiful in every way. And, good or bad, I always wanna share my time with you.”

 

Her hand pauses against the side of his face, but she doesn’t pull away. He draws back just enough so that he can catch her searching eyes. She feels so much, his Julianna. So much it scares her. He thinks maybe that’s always been true in her life. But it was easier before she lost her boy, before she understood what it was like to lose someone she felt so much for. That’s half of her reluctance with them, and he knows it. She thinks she’s just keeping him at an emotional arm’s length out of guilt, but it’s just as much out of self-preservation. 

 

“You think you’re the only one who’s scared?” he whispers, taking her hand and placing it on his own chest. “You feel that? Do you get what you do to me? How much of you is already in there? You came into my life like this whirlwind, upending everything, and I’m so caught up in you, and so fast, that I don’t even know which way is up sometimes.”

 

Her fingers twitch, like maybe she’s going to pull away, but she doesn’t. Instead she bites her lip and stares at her own nails where they rest against his shirt. 

 

“Kiss me and see,” he tells her, pulling her attention up to him. “Keep your hand on my heart and kiss me like you mean it. See what happens.”

 

There’s no part of him that expects her to do it. It’s asking her to face a lot… which is why he’s stunned when her gaze drops to his lips before she bites her own nervously. Her eyes find his again… 

 

She closes in. 

 

It’s the softest, most intimate kiss they’ve ever shared and it absolutely floors him. He stutters out a breath against her lips and his heart pounds so furiously that she has to hear it as well as feel it beneath her palm. He never wants it to end, but when it does, when she pulls back, it’s with a startled look of understanding. 

 

He might not have told her he loves her, but he’s pretty sure he just showed her.

 

“I know what it is to lose people, too, Julianna,” he reminds her. “And you scare the hell outta me. But I want this more than I’m terrified of it.”

 

He knows better than to expect a response to that and he’s pushed his luck enough, so he kisses her forehead and tucks her into his arms. That way she doesn’t have to look him in the eye. Her dog hops up a second later, curious about his presence and looking for her person. She curls up against Jules’ back and watches Alex. 

 

This dog’s been here for her for years, probably been a source of comfort for her when nothing else could be. Alex has always liked dogs, but that alone would have been enough to endear this particular one to him. 

 

“Hey, pup,” he greets, scratching the lab behind her ear. She apparently decides he’s okay, because she licks his wrist before setting her head down on the pillow next to Jules. 

 

“Bokeh.”

 

“What?” he asks, looking down at Jules and finding her already staring back. 

 

“Her name’s Bokeh,” she repeats. “She was Jackson’s. And she’s a bed-hog.”

 

Alex grins. “That’s fine,” he says. “I don’t mind close quarters with you.”

 

“Yeah,” Jules says, reaching up and running her fingers along his jawline. “Me either.”


	18. Chapter 18

 

“ _ Hey, you want some eggs _ ?” 

 

The world is foggy, blurry in a way that doesn’t quite connect. She doesn’t know where she is. Here and there. Then and now. Her studio and the old apartment with its sunny bay window and the tiny vase that always had two little yellow daffodils in it. 

 

“What?” she asks.

 

“Eggs, Julie,” Jackson repeats, smiling so brightly she has to blink at the sight of it. “Did you want some?”

 

“I, um…” She closes her eyes and shakes her head, but when she opens them the apartment is still there.  _ Jackson _ is still there. She lets out a breath she doesn’t remember holding before shooting him a warm smile. “No, I’m good,” Jules replies. “Thank you.”

 

She slides off the bed and toes on her slippers, absently noting she really needs new ones as she wanders over to where he’s cooking. Buster’s with him, watching dutifully as he fries up some bacon. Jules leans down to scratch behind his ears, but the dog doesn’t budge, his eyes on Jackson, hoping for the bacon to fall, as if his will alone will accomplish that. He doesn’t have to hope, though. Jackson winks at the puppy - and he is just a puppy, maybe a year old at most - and slips him a piece. 

 

“Jackson,” Jules chastises as Buster licks his hand clean. The dog whines happily, his tail thumping against the floor as one of his ears flops to the side. It makes her heart hurt, but she doesn’t know why. Ignoring the feeling, she playfully flicks Jackson’s arm. “You’re spoiling him.”

 

“It makes him happy,” Jackson defends, like that’s a valid argument. And to him, it is, because that’s who he is. It’s part of why she loves him so much. He’s so giving, so invested in the joy of everyone around him. She grins, rolling her eyes at him when he turns to face her. “I love seeing you smile, Julie.”

 

She freezes, the floor dropping out from under her.

 

“What did you say?” Jules asks. 

 

“I love seeing you smile, Julie,” he repeats. His voice is robotic. Everything from the inflection of his tone to the way he stretches out her name on a grin is the exact same. He doesn’t move an inch as he says it again. “I love seeing you smile, Julie.”

 

The echoes pull the dream tight until it snaps, the thin veneer of believability crumbling away.

 

The floor drops out from under her as she stumbles away from him. She shakes her head, her lips numb as she whispers, “This isn’t real.” She presses a hand to her forehead, looking around, seeing through the walls around them, like they’re tissue paper. “Oh God.”

 

It all races back at once, hitting her in fresh waves of pain all over again. It burns through her, hurting like it’s brand new, like it’s happening all over again, and she  _ can’t breathe. _

 

“Doesn’t mean I don’t love seeing you smile,” he tells her. “I love seeing you smile, Julie.”

 

Everything but that sounds wrong, she realizes. That sentence, those exact words, are the same ones from the video on her old phone that she’d watched hundreds of times. But the rest of them… She can’t define how, but she knows they’re just  _ wrong,  _ because she can’t hear him anymore. And she’ll never hear him again. It’s been too long and the exact cadence and tenor of his voice is lost to her. 

 

Bits of their life slip through her fingers and, yet again, she’s powerless to hold on to it. 

 

“I’m so sorry,” Jules whispers, her face crumpling. “I should’ve told you. I should’ve saved you. I loved you so much. I still love you.”

 

“I know,” he confirms. “I always knew that. But I can’t love you back anymore, Julie. And you deserve to be loved.”

 

He looks past her and she turns to find Alex sleeping in the bed she’d just gotten out of. 

 

“ _ Oh _ ,” she gasps, a wave of shame slamming into her. “Oh no.” She looks back at Jackson with tears in her eyes and an apology already on her lips, but he shakes his head before she can get the words out.

 

“It’s okay,” he assures her. 

 

“It’s  _ not _ ,” Jules says, stepping towards him, reaching out to touch his hand. “Jackson, I just…”

 

But her fingers slide right through his, because he’s not really standing before her. He’s gone and nothing can change that. 

 

Not even in her dreams, apparently.

 

That realization rips open the wound his death left even more, and for the first time she  _ feels _ how deep she’s let it get.

 

“I already told you, Julie,” he says as he starts to lose shape, to blur into nothingness right before her. “I can’t love you back anymore.”

 

Jules wakes with a start, sitting up before she realizes she’s moving. A sob falls from her lips and she covers her mouth, trying to cage it in. It almost works. She could have pretended it did, had she been alone.

 

A warm hand presses into her back, jolting her. Jules spins to find Alex watching her with concern. He sits up more fully, his face creased with sleep, his hair a lopsided mess. The intimacy of it strikes her, as does the fact that he doesn’t stop touching her. As tears fill her eyes, he digs his fingers soothingly, rubbing his palm up and down her spine.

 

She wants to look away, to turn in on herself… No, that’s not true. She wants to want to.

 

Jules lets out a shuddery sigh, her shoulders collapsing. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

 

God, will she ever finish saying that?

 

“Nothin’ to be sorry for,” Alex replies, just as quietly. “We all got our demons.”

 

“Yeah, but that’s not what this is,” she tells him, offering a pained look that speaks volumes. 

 

Understanding fills his eyes. “Your boy?” he asks, his hand pausing.

 

She nods. 

 

“You dream about him a lot?” he asks, turning so he’s facing her more fully. 

 

Jules hesitates. Her mouth opens, muscle memory almost having her spit out an easy dismissal, something she knows without a doubt he wouldn’t push her on right now, but her voice fails her. 

 

Up until she whispers, “Sometimes.” 

 

When she pauses, he doesn’t press and the comfortable silence between them is more soothing than anything she’s ever felt. That should be terrifying, she thinks. But it’s not. Jules looks at him, finally letting the truth spill. 

 

“A lot,” she finally confirms. “Sometimes it’s memories. Sometimes it’s things that could’ve happened if he’d lived. Sometimes I know it’s a dream. Sometimes I don’t.”

 

“Which was this?”

 

The dream comes back in alarming clarity, taking her breath away, ringing with such familiarity that she  _ swears _ she was back in their apartment. But she wasn’t, exactly.

 

“I figured it out halfway through,” she admits. “It was our old apartment… or maybe it was here, I don’t… I don’t know, it kind of blurred together. He was cooking breakfast with my dog.”

 

“Bokeh?” Alex asks. 

 

The lab hears her name and rests her head on Alex’s lap, looking up at Jules with huge, worried eyes. 

 

A sob wrenches itself from her throat. “No,” she answers. She can feel her nose turning red and she stops even trying to hold back the tears. “No, my puppy Buster. He was… he’s gone, too. They both left me. They left me alone.”

 

His hand is moving again, rubbing up and down her back in soft, warm circles that center her. She leans into him without thinking, yearning for the support and comfort his touch offers. Alex scoots closer, smoothing his other hand over her lap, not pulling her closer, not urging her to lean into him more. Just  _ being _ there.

 

It feels good, she realizes. It feels  _ right _ .

 

“You ain’t alone, chica,” he says, kissing her temple gently. “And they didn’t wanna go. You know that.”

 

“I do,” Jules admits, sniffling and swiping at the tears staining her cheeks. “But seeing them and knowing they’re gone… I can’t… I’m glad to see them. I don’t want to lose that. Sometimes they’re blurry and it’s like I’m losing them in a new way, like they’re fading in my head. I can’t think of anything worse than that. But seeing them and then waking up and they’re gone. It’s like I just lost them both all over again and it hurts  _ so much _ .”

 

“I know,” he whispers, his hold on her tightening just enough to tell her he’s there for her. She sighs again, leaning into him even more. “I know how it is. ‘Cause they do fade. ‘Cause our memories aren’t perfect and time helps things, but it also makes it worse. The way they made you feel, though? That part stays no matter how long it is since they’ve been gone. That’s the bit you’ve gotta hold on to, Julianna.” 

 

“How?” she asks. “How do I remember them? How do I think about Jackson and just feel the good parts without the rest of it?” 

 

“It’s different for everyone,” he says, shaking his head as he looks down at Bokeh. “But I think forgiving is the first step.”

 

Jules stiffens and pulls away with a scorn-laced, “Forgiving his killer?” 

 

“No, chica,” he answers, letting her go. He gives her a sad look, one that tears into her. “Forgiving yourself.”

 

Jules shakes her head, winding her arms around herself, replacing his touch. “I don’t deserve that.”

 

“You do,” he counters. “This guilt and blame you’re holding on to, it’s a poison. You get rid of it because you’ve got to. It’s not about deserving. Believe me, I know. How long do you think an eight year old kid blames himself for his papa dying at work ‘cause he was putting in extra hours to buy him a bike?”

 

Jules frowns at him, wondering if he notices the way his shoulders shift, as if he’s still carrying some of that weight to this day. 

 

“No, Alex,” she says, turning to him, her hand landing on his thigh. “You were  _ eight _ . What kid doesn’t want a bike? There’s no way you could have known what would happen.”

 

“I know that,” he answers, smiling gently at her. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t feel guilty. Of course I did. I remember very clearly believing one hundred percent that if I just asked for something else, he would still be alive. But there’s no way I could have foreseen that. And for the record, there’s no way you could have known what would happen either. Sometimes life is just like that.”

 

Jules cringes, pulling her hand back. “No. If I’d told him who my father was, or that I could take care of myself, everything would’ve been different.”

 

“No,” Alex says, snatching her hand back. His palm is scorching against her suddenly cold fingers. “It wouldn’t.”

 

“What are you talking about?” she asks. “Of course it would have.”

 

“ _ How _ ?” he asks, squeezing her hand for emphasis. “You think your boy was gonna spot danger and say, ‘Oh lemme back off. My girl’s got this,’ while you fight off an assassin with a knife? ‘Cause everything you’ve said about Jackson’s said otherwise. If he loved you half as much as I think he did, he was  _ always _ gonna put himself between you and danger… I know I would.”

 

“ _ No _ .” A bolt of panic strikes her chest and she digs her nails into the back of his hand, gripping him so tight she won’t realize until later she’s drawn blood. “You wouldn’t,” she snaps, almost like she’s issuing an order.

 

“I damned well would,” he says. “In a heartbeat. Every single time.”

 

“No, Alex…” Jules turns to face him,  _ needing  _ him to understand. “It’s pointless.”

 

“What?” he asks, incredulity coloring his face. “No, it’s not pointless. Because I care about you, Julianna. If I see someone coming at you, you’d better believe I’m gonna protect you.”

 

“I can protect myself,” she bites out.

 

“Never said you couldn’t.” He stares at her, not backing down. “But that doesn’t change anything.”

 

“I’m Tempest,” she blurts.

 

The words come out in a messy tumble and the second they do, she wants to shove them back in her mouth. Her jaw drops, her eyes widening in surprise at the admission. She stiffens, her hand slipping from his again, unable to believe that she just threw that out there, that she told him at all, and yet… 

 

It feels right.

 

But it doesn’t change that she also just basically outted her entire family.

 

“Yeah… that don’t change anything either,” he replies, as calm as can be. Jules blinks, sitting up as he just smiles at her. “I was wondering when it would come up.”

 

“Wait…” Jules closes her eyes, trying to comprehend… all of this. A second later her gaze snaps back to his. “You  _ knew _ ?” she demands.

 

“‘Course I knew,” he replies. “I’d know those curves anywhere.”

 

“Are you…” She blanches at him. It’s surreal and all she can do is stare at him. “Are you seriously telling me you recognized me as Tempest because of  _ my ass _ ?” 

 

He smirks. He has the audacity to  _ smirk _ as he acknowledges, “It’s a memorable ass.” Alex raises his eyebrows at her. “That leather fits you well, but there were other clues, too. Your dad’s The Arrow. Tempest started busting up the streets with him just months after Jackson died. She’s your height, got your hair, your beautiful lips… It wasn’t that hard to put together knowing all that.”

 

“You really knew?” Jules sits back, seeing him in a whole new light. It takes her a second longer to realize that she feels lighter herself, lighter in a way she hasn’t felt in years. “How long?”

 

“I suspected from the start,” he tells her. “Since the first time Tempest hit the news. But I only really knew since we started…” He waves his hand between them. “ _ This _ . Your muscles are toned, built like a fighter. Don’t get me wrong, it suits you. I love it, but it’s a giveaway. The nights you don’t wind up at my place, you’re usually on the news as Tempest. They never overlap. And now that I get to see your body, I see the scars you have that could have come from something Tempest faces every night. And the bruises, the cuts. Pretty easy to figure out where they come from.”   
  


That had honestly never occurred to her. Every man she’d been with after Jackson had been so fleeting, not around long enough to notice anything out of the ordinary. And even then it was quick, dirty and hard, usually in the dark, neither of them caring past the need for immediate gratification. But it isn’t like that with Alex. Nothing is like Alex. 

 

He notices. 

 

_ He cares _ . 

 

Alex taps her hip where she’d earned a nasty black-and-blue mark last week, and then he brushes his fingers up her side where she’d gotten scraped when she and Nate had been shot at, before his eyes dart over her body, touching on all the spots she knows she has scars.

 

Her heart climbs up her throat, but she shoves it back down, needing to think.

 

“You’re not gonna tell me to stop?” she asks. “You just told me you’d put yourself between me and danger. You just said that, and… You’re not going to insist I quit?”

 

“It’s part of who you are, Julianna,” he tells her. “And I like that person. So, no. I’m not gonna tell you to stop. Even if I thought you’d listen, I wouldn’t.”

 

“I wouldn’t listen,” she says, her voice hard. “It’s my choice.”

 

“It is.” Alex nods. “And I respect that, ‘cause I respect you.”

 

Jules huffs. “Why do you always have to say exactly the right thing? It’s annoying as hell.”

 

He grins, offering up a broad, toothy smile that makes his eyes crinkle and her heart flip in her chest. God, he’s attractive when he smiles like that…

 

Jackson’s joyful grin surfaces in her mind. 

 

A pang of sadness hits her heart like a lance, her dream coming back to her in a rush.

 

“Hey,” Alex says, touching her hand. “What’s that look for?” 

 

“Just the dream,” she tells him.

 

Jules looks down at his fingers. They brush over the back of her knuckles, silently telling her he’s  _ there _ , and before she knows what she’s doing she moves, sliding her hand closer to his. Their fingers lightly lace together and she watches them, unable to escape how  _ right _ they look together. 

 

“You were there, too,” Jules adds softly.

 

She glances up long enough to see Alex’s eyebrows shoot up and her heart seizes at the admission. Jules’ eyes find their hands again, her fingers drifting against the back of his.

 

“I was there?” he asks after a minute. “While your boy was cooking breakfast?” 

 

“Yeah.” The dream rises in her mind’s eye and her chest constricts, remembering the way Jackson had looked over her shoulder. The look on his face as he stared at Alex. Jules slowly exhales. “He said some things. About you. And me. About us.”

 

He waits for her to continue, but the rest of the words get stuck in her throat as the walls she’s worked so hard to keep up start crumbling. Panic momentarily seizes her. Silence stretches out between them. The longer she doesn’t talk, the longer she just stares at their tangled fingers. She can feel his gaze burning into her, but she can’t bring herself to look at him.

 

“You wanna tell me about it?” Alex ventures.

 

“No,” she says, instinctively.

 

Alex sighs, the sound barely audible, but it’s there. He squeezes her fingers as he says, “You gotta let him rest, chica.”

 

Jules frowns, finally looking at him. “What?”

 

She’s greeted by a pained look, his lips tugging up in a sympathetic smile. 

 

“How’s he gonna find peace knowin’ you’re holding on to him so hard?” Alex asks. “How’s he supposed to move on if you won’t let go?”

 

“You take the dream literally, then.” 

 

“You don’t?” he asks. 

 

It’s something she’s considered, talked to her mother and Grandma Donna about. And she’s had more than a couple of conversations with her rabbi about death and the world to come. But experiencing dreams is different in practice than in theory and it’s hard to make sense of everything when she sees Jackson’s eyes looking back at her night after night. 

 

Jules looks down again. “Sometimes it’s hard to know what to think.”

 

“Wanna know what I think?” Alex asks.

 

That momentary panic comes back at the seemingly simple question, because she  _ wants _ to know what he thinks. She needs to.

 

She doesn’t trust her voice right then, so instead Jules just nods, her eyes finding his again.

 

“I think your boy’s in Heaven,” Alex says. Tears burn her eyes, but she doesn’t look away as he continues. “I think he’s with God, who saw what a good man he was right away and welcomed him home with open arms. But I think he looks down from paradise and he sees you holdin’ on to him so tightly that it pulls him right back cause he can’t stand to see you hurt.”  

 

“He would do that,” Jules whispers, her face crumbling. “If that’s how it works, he would. He’d do anything to try and make me happy. He always did.”

 

A tear slips down her cheek and they both let it run its course. It slides down her jaw, her neck, landing in the hollow of her collarbone. Alex grips her hand tighter in his.

 

“You gotta set him free, Julianna,” he says. “Not ‘cause of me or even ‘cause of you, though you do deserve to be able to move on. But you gotta let him go for him, so that he gets to have peace. He’s earned that.”

 

“You think I’m doing that?” Jules asks, her grip on him suddenly tightening. Her voice shakes as she turns his words over in her head. “You think I’m haunting him as much as he’s haunting me? That I’m keeping him from knowing peace?”

 

He does. The look on his face says as much, but he also doesn’t want to hurt her by saying it out loud. 

 

Oh God, that makes it hurt even more.

 

“I think letting go of you would be hard for anyone,” he tells her after a moment, brushing his thumb against her cheek, erasing the tear track. “And he’d wanna see you’re okay before he goes.”

 

“I don’t think I know how to be okay,” Jules replies before she can think twice. The words just tumble out and she winces, curling in on herself as the wound she’s carried for so long throbs deep inside her at the confession she’s never uttered out loud.

 

“Yeah, you do,” Alex counters. His words are light and easy, so full of confidence that she finds herself staring at him… finds herself  _ hoping _ that he’s right. He’s not judging her, or condemning her. He’s just… Alex. He smiles, stroking her cheek again, holding her hand as tight as he dares and the connection buoys her, pulls her up. “You’re the strongest person I ever met, Julianna. You’re already okay. You just aren’t ready to accept that yet.”

 

Instinct has her wanting to shy away, but something stops her. She’s not sure if it’s the way he’s holding her or the affection and respect in his eyes, the utter confidence in his belief that she is okay, but just can’t see it. Either way she can’t look away from him, and the silence that settles over them this time is comfortable. Warm. Intimate.

 

She’s not sure how much time has passed before Alex sighs, glancing at his watch.

 

“I should get going,” he says.

 

Jules blinks at the loss of eye contact. The last several minutes filter back to her in rapid succession, leaving her reeling, her chest aching at how much she’d revealed to him. The wound she’s worked so hard to keep buried feels like it’s been ripped open, exposed to the elements in a way it never has before and she finds herself scrambling to cover it, to protect it.

 

She forces a laugh out as she says, “A little early for the walk of shame, isn’t it?” 

 

The mood in the room instantly shifts.

 

Alex pins her in place with a hard look and a rough, “No.” 

 

She frowns, but he doesn’t let her curl in on herself this time, cupping her face, keeping her still so she can’t look away. His eyes are all fire, and the intensity of his anger shining back at her makes her shiver. She should get pissed, she thinks, respond in kind, but she’s transfixed by him in a way that keeps her silent.

 

“I don’t ever wanna hear that from you again,” Alex tells her. “Nothing about us makes me ashamed. Never will. I am not a man who is gonna crawl out of your bed before you wake up and sneak out the door with his shoes in hand. You got that? Don’t go making this tawdry when it’s anything but.”

 

She opens her mouth to say she hadn’t meant it that way, but his words have her closing it. She’d spoken without thinking, falling back onto something easy and familiar after exposing so much of herself. It’s easier to brush this off, to twist their burgeoning relationship into something meaningless. At least then she knows how to handle things. Because she doesn’t know how to handle  _ this _ , whatever it is that’s growing between them. They are more than what she’d implied, and she knows that.

 

Alex doesn’t relent. She has a feeling he’ll wait forever.

 

Jules nods after a moment, giving him a soft, “Okay.”

 

He searches her eyes, and he must find the same reassurance because all the insistence drains out of him. A fissure of vulnerability echoes in his eyes, but he doesn’t hide it, not like she would. He lets her see everything, and she  _ can _ , she realizes. She reads him like a book, and for the first time she starts to appreciate just what is blossoming here.

 

Alex cups her face with both hands, his thumbs stroking her cheeks before he kisses her. It’s so gentle, their lips merely brushing, but the weight it carries shakes her to her very core. And instead of pulling away, Jules leans into it.

 

When they pull apart, her lungs burn with the need for oxygen, and it’s not just from the kiss.

 

Alex kisses the tip of her nose before pressing his lips to her forehead.

 

“There’s nothing I want more than to crawl back in bed with you,” he says. She wants that, too. A lot. “But it’s almost five and I’ve gotta be to work in an hour. Less if I wanna change out of yesterday’s clothes and brush my teeth at the firehouse before anyone else is there.”

 

Jules makes a face, grabbing his wrist to look at his watch. “God, it’s early,” she groans, flopping back against her pillow.

 

Alex chuckles, gripping her hip with an affectionate squeeze. “That’s the job, chica.”

 

She sighs dramatically, draping an arm over her eyes. “I prefer being self-employed for  _ so many _ reasons.”

 

He laughs again. The bed creaks as he stands. Bokeh’s tail thumps against her side with the sort of vigor that tells Jules she’s currently getting her chin scratched.

 

“Look after our girl for me, will you?” Alex murmurs. Jules peeks out from under her arm to find him talking to the dog. Bokeh responds by licking his cheek, earning a gorgeous grin from the man. “That’s a good pup.”

 

“You’re something else, you know that?” Jules asks.

 

Alex just smiles at her, patting the dog on the head before standing.

 

Jules watches him stretch, her eyes drifting down when he pushes his arms over his head, forcing his shirt to ride up, exposing his muscled abdomen. It’s not lust, exactly, that roars through her veins. It’s something else. 

 

She sits up, her hand landing on Bokeh’s back for emotional support. “You free tomorrow night?” 

 

“For you?” Alex asks. “Yeah, I’m free.”

 

“I’ve got some Arrow stuff I need to do,” she says. “But maybe I’ll swing by after.”

 

“Or we could meet somewhere,” he suggests, aiming for nonchalant, but she can hear the nerves in his voice. “Late dinner. Maybe drinks.”

 

“Not tomorrow,” she says, swallowing hard. “But… I’ll think about it. Okay?”

 

The hope on his face is striking. “Yeah?” he asks. 

 

She’s surprised him. Hell, she’s surprised herself. But it feels right. It feels like… well, it feels like  _ maybe _ . She isn’t sure if she can do this yet. She’s not sure she can make plans for an actual date and follow through. But she knows she wants to. 

 

And that’s something. It’s definitely something.

 

“Yeah,” Jules says, biting her lip. “I’ll think about it… A lot. I promise.”

 

A huge grin splits his face. He tries to temper it, but he fails, and it has her shaking her head, unable to stop her own smile at the sight.

 

“That’s all I’m asking,” he says, leaning down to kiss her. 

 

She laughs. “No, it’s not.”

 

“No,” Alex agrees, grinning against her lips. “It’s not. But I’ll take it for now.” He pulls back and stares at her for a moment before adding, “And I’m gonna hold a picture of you like this in my head for now, too.”

 

“With bedhead and no makeup in an old band t-shirt?”

 

“Yeah,” he says. “Most beautiful thing I ever saw.”

 

Jules scrunches her nose at him. “Flatterer.”

 

“Don’t mean it’s not true,” he counters. 

 

“You should just take a real picture,” she says softly, stretching out with her arms above her head and biting the edge of her lip. “Doesn’t need to be kept in your head.”

 

The mood in the room  _ shifts _ . Alex holds his breath, his lids growing heavy as he stares at her with an intensity that makes her shiver. She tugs more of her lip into her mouth and his eyes drop down to watch, his pupils widening at the sight. He swallows hard, licking his lips, and it’s her turn to watch. The air between them thickens and Jules’ eyes find his again.

 

He groans deep in his chest. 

 

“Take a picture,” Alex repeats, his voice dropping into a rasp. “Of you. Like this.”

 

“Yeah,” she whispers. She raises an eyebrow, wiggling against the sheets. A flush colors his cheeks, his mouth falling open in a little pant. “If you can’t crawl back in here with me, at least you can have a reminder for later.”

 

“Yeah,” he breathes. He doesn’t move, though, not even his lips. His eyes glaze over with need as he adds a barely audible, “‘Kay.”

 

Jules runs her tongue along her upper lip and he just about falls to pieces right there. And then his eyes sharpen, his head tilting, like he wants to… 

 

_ Attack her. _

 

The shiver that slithers down her spine takes her breath away. It lights up her nerves, heating her blood. Her nipples harden under the thin shirt, a distinct tingle making her sex throb as he just  _ stares _ at her. How is that as erotic as it is? 

 

Jules wets her lips again. “Your phone?” she prods.

 

Alex blinks. “Huh?”

 

“For the picture.”

 

“Oh… Yeah,” he agrees, standing up to dig through his pocket.

 

Jules steals the moment to nudge Bokeh off the bed and tousle her hair a bit as she rearranges, crawling onto her knees, tugging the blanket up so anyone who sees the picture would wonder if she’s wearing underwear. By the time he has his camera up on his phone and his eyes find hers again, she’s rucked up her shirt to expose most of her stomach. Cool air glides over the underside of her breasts as she gives him the most suggestive, half-lidded look she can muster.

 

Alex drops his phone.

 

Her look breaks at that and she laughs. She can’t help it, especially when he mutters, “Shit,” and drops to grab it again. The way he fumbles with it has her laughing even more before he finally gets it in position.

 

That’s the first shot he takes of her. Later - a lot later - it’ll be her favorite, but for now she schools her features, going back to giving him enticing looks as he gets in a few more shots. She changes her poses, exposing more skin, making him choke before he lets out a very controlled breath.

 

“Dios mios, I wish I didn’t have to go to work,” he says.

 

A giddy thrill shoots through her at the admission and her cheeks pinken with joy. Jules crawls out of the blankets and back to the edge of the bed, standing on her knees so she can reach him. She strokes his strong jaw, savoring the prickly feel of his scruff against her fingertips. She drags her nails through her it, delighting in the way he tosses his phone on the bed to wrap his arms around her, digging his face into her palms.

 

“Tomorrow night,” she promises. “I’ll come over to your place and spend the night.” His jaw tightens under her hands and she grins, leaning in, her lips ghosting over his as she adds, “And then we’ll spend all morning in bed the next day. Sound good?”

 

He grunts in agreement, nodding before taking a fortifying breath. And then he kisses her softly, tasting her, wrapping his lips around her top one before groaning.

 

“It sounds like I’m gonna be distracted at work, is what it sounds like.”

 

Jules grins. “Hope you have a lot of downtime.”

 

Alex’s hands span the length of her back, kissing her once more. “I’ll text you if I do.” 

 

“Good,” she replies, telling herself to let him go. He needs to get to work and she knows there’s plenty for her to do. But she doesn’t. She holds him close, their lips brushing together, breathing each other. His fingers dig into her spine and she knows if she kisses him now, he’s going to be late. And yet, she doesn’t really care all that much. She should, she reminds herself. She really, really should… 

 

Jules whispers his name, arching her back, pressing her chest into his as they sway together.

 

Alex takes a stuttered breath. One of his hands slides up her back, cupping the back of her neck, his thumb pushing her head to the side, angling her just right if he wanted to kiss her. She wants him to, so bad it burns. Her lips tingle with the need to feel his pressed to hers, especially when she feels his body starting to harden, the growing bulge straining in his jeans.

 

_ ‘Stay,’ _ she wants to say.  _ ‘Don’t leave.’ _

 

They stay like that, for too long, long enough that some alarm starts buzzing on his watch.

 

He growls out a curse, his eyes slamming shut. Jules forces herself to let him go, settling back on her feet, putting distance between them. 

 

“I gotta go,” he says, his eyes finding hers. The blaze of need staring back at her makes her breath catch, and all she can do is nod. He doesn’t move for a second, just watching her, before reality snaps back into place. 

 

Jules watches him sigh as he bends over to pick up his phone again.

 

A thought hits hers and her eyes widen.

 

“Make sure my brother doesn’t see those pictures,” she says. The laugh that falls out is strained. “Not unless you want some practice at hand-to-hand defense. My dad trained him just like he trained me, you know, and I really can’t see him being overly pleased about those shots.”

 

“No kidding,” Alex replies, sobering at the thought. “I’ll keep it to myself. You don’t need to worry about that.”

 

“Okay.” She nods, giving him a softer smile. “Have a good day.”

 

His lips quirk up in a matching smile. “You too.”

 

For a second she thinks he’s going to kiss her again, but she also doesn’t trust either of them to keep it chaste. In fact, her mind fills in the blanks pretty easily, seeing her surging up to wrap herself around him the second he leans over her, their lips crashing together before she yanks him back down on the bed with her, urging him to crawl over her, spreading her legs so he can settle between her thighs, both of them moaning when they feel…

 

Jules forces herself to breathe.

 

Yeah, it’s definitely a good thing he just scratches Bokeh behind the ear and turns to leave. 

 

But she does absolutely enjoy the view. 

 

Alex glances back from the door and she blows him a kiss. The grin that lights his face in response has her smiling just as wide before he leaves. 

 

Jules stares at the closed door, waiting for the effortless lightness that his presence seems to bring her to fade, but it doesn’t go away. And neither does the giddiness, or the playful joy and excitement that thrums through her veins. With a delighted, “Huh,” Jules falls back on the bed. She couldn’t get rid of the smile on her face even if she wanted to. It’s a permanent fixture on her face as she climbs back under the blankets with Bokeh, surrounding both of them with his lingering scent. It does become softer, though, quieter, a smile that’s just for herself as she lets herself just exist with it.

 

It’s a long while before she finally climbs out, and it’s only because Bokeh needs to go out.

 

The rest of her day is uneventful, even if three separate people comment on her good mood. Not the least of which is her mother, who is nosy beyond compare and makes more than a few very-nearly-true assumptions about why Jules is smiling so much when they FaceTime that morning. That throws Jules more than she’s willing to admit, but it does nothing to diminish her smiles. Which also throws her.

 

What doesn’t throw her, though, is Nate’s steady presence when Jules gets to her parents’ house late in the afternoon. His overall lack of awareness when it comes to Jules’ extracurricular activities doesn’t hurt either.

 

It’s a relief to see his nonplussed look when she eventually sidles up to his door that afternoon with a, “How’s the war wound, Bug?”

 

“It’d be better if you stopped calling it a war wound,” Nate replies without looking up from whatever insane spreadsheet thing he’s working on. Jules doesn’t have to see what it is to know that it’s lightyears away from anything actually interesting. “And if you stopped calling me Bug,” he adds dryly, finally looking at her.

 

Jules smirks, invading his room without waiting for an invitation. She plops down cross-legged on his bed, forcing him to turn where he’s sitting at his desk to see her. His leg is still wrapped under his jeans and he carefully maneuvers it so the wound doesn’t get jostled. He’s still got the crutches and sports are out of the question for at least a few months. Which explains why he’s sitting in here doing whatever boring thing he is right now.

 

His crusty exterior doesn’t stay that way for long. 

 

A second later a smile cracks his lips and Jules gasps.

 

“Oh, he smiles!” she teases, grabbing one of his pillows to toss it at him. Nate huffs, catching it easily and tossing it back without skipping a beat. “I knew my hero had it in him.”

 

That has his cheeks turning pink, and he ducks his head with a bashful awkwardness that is adorable. 

 

But Jules isn’t about to let that stop her from making sure he knows, as often as she possibly can, how absolutely remarkable he is.

 

“I’d be dead without you, Bug,” Jules says. “You know that, right?”

 

“Nah,” Nate counters. “You’d have seen the gun.”

 

Jules doesn’t bother hiding how hard she rolls her eyes. They’ve had the same conversation over and over and over since he got home from the hospital. What she needs is a whole roll of spreadsheets with the data to back her up so she can whack him upside the head with all the reasons why she’s right. 

 

“No,” she says, her voice definitive. “You keep saying that like I wasn’t completely distracted that day. I didn’t seen the gun, and I wouldn’t have. I wasn’t out there as Tempest, I wasn’t looking around, I was barely looking at you. I’d just had my hopes dashed about Jackson’s death having nothing to do with me. I was in no way ready for an attack. You saved my life, Nate. So would you just take the freaking thank you?”

 

“Well,” Nate hedges, watching his hands tug on the bottom of his shirt to straighten out some of the wrinkled lines. “You haven’t exactly said it, so…”

 

Jules snorts, wanting to toss the pillow at her little brother again, this time harder, but he also has a point. 

 

“ _ Fine _ ,” she says and then her voice softens, her eyes focusing on his. “Thank you, Nate. You are braver than you think are.” He blushes even more, looking more pleased than he’ll admit. The tips of his ears turn red and she can’t help but add, “Except maybe when it comes to the cute girls at school.”

 

Oh, the red face that  _ that _ gets. Jules laughs as Nate glares at her, flinging a rubber band at her with a grumbled, “Shut up.”

 

Jules ducks it easily. “Good thing you’ve got a sharp eye and quick reflexes because your aim  _ sucks _ .”

 

“Hey!” he defends. “I’m at an awkward angle. And I’m wounded.”

 

“Your arm isn’t!” Jules chuckles. “You didn’t shoot that rubber band with your toes, dorkbrain.”

 

“Dorkbrain? Seriously?” he repeats, blinking at her from behind his spare pair of glasses. “And people say I’m the kid and you’re the adult.”

 

“Well, clearly they’re blind,” Jules replies, pushing up off the bed and walking over to ruffle Nate’s hair. He tries to dodge away, but she’s got the advantage and she uses it. “You’ve been a very short adult since before you were out of diapers, dorkbrain. Now you’re… well, the short part is gone, but you’re still more likely to talk 401Ks and stock portfolios than anyone under the age of fifty.”

 

“They’re important, you know,” he counters. “The sooner you start saving the better off you’ll be. You should be actively managing your money.”

 

Jules rolls her eyes before giving him an exasperated look. “Nate… we’re billionaires.” 

 

“Yeah,” he agrees, giving her the exact same look back. They don’t often resemble each other a whole lot, but this expression is the exception to that. It’s pure Thea Harper reflected on the faces of her niece and nephew. “I really like that about us and I’d like to keep it that way. That’s why I manage my money.”

 

“You are better at looking to the future than I am,” Jules says, glancing at whatever he’s working on. She doesn’t look at him as she adds, “Seems like lately I’m mostly living in the past.”

 

It’s an admission, small as it is, one of hundreds that she usually keeps from her baby brother. He’s made it clear on more than one occasion how he feels about the family business, and even more clear how he feels about everything that’s been happening recently. But it’s also clear that she hasn’t exactly been easy to deal with lately, especially when it comes to anything involving Jackson.

 

When Jules finally looks at Nate again, it’s obvious he’s surprised that she’s saying anything along those lines, but he doesn’t brush it off.

 

“You’re not living in the past, Jules,” he says, his voice quiet and solemn and far more wise than he has any business being. “You’re in the here and now. And you were right.”

 

“I’m always right,” she declares, but the forced levity falls short when Nate doesn’t even blink. She purses her lips before giving him an almost nervous smile. “What was I right about this time?”

 

“Jackson’s killer,” Nate tells her. She holds her breath as he pinches his lips together, rolling them back and forth as he tries to sort out what he wants to say. She doesn’t have to wait long. “They’re not gonna stop, Jules. You were right to go after them. I didn’t want to face it because what happened before was… It made me feel weak and helpless and scared. I didn’t want to feel that again. But knowing they’re out there and that they can come after us any time they want… That’s worse.”

 

Nate likes admitting he’s wrong about as much as she does. But he also wasn’t  _ entirely _ wrong. 

 

“We do need to find him,” Jules agrees. “But we have to be smarter about it, too. I was ready to take on the world to track this person down, Nate, and you almost paid for that with your life.”

 

“Patrice was after you,” Nate points out. “Not me.”

 

“Doesn’t make you any less shot, does it?” Jules asks, gesturing to his leg. “I’m forever going to be grateful for what you did. But you shouldn’t have had to do it. And if I’d been more careful, if I’d listened to everyone and been patient, maybe you wouldn’t have had to.”

 

“We don’t know how she found out we were on her trail,” Nate replies. “Maybe just digging up those bodies was enough. Don’t be too hard on yourself, Jules.”

 

She gives a little laugh of disbelief and shakes her head at her brother. He’s such a good kid, such a kind-hearted person. The age gap between them along with his absurd level maturity has always felt a bit like a divide, but now… now, after he not only took a bullet for her but also didn’t blame her for it... Well, it feels like they’ve bonded on a new level. 

 

Maybe his maturity is contagious. 

 

Or not.

 

“I love you, dorkbrain,” she tells him, ruffling his hair again. “Did you know that?”

 

“Yeah,” he says with a happy grin even as he bats her hand away. “I did. And I love you too, even if you can be a total brat.”

 

“A  _ brat _ ?” 

 

“Definitely.”

 

Jules scoffs, crossing her arms. “We’ll see if I swipe you any jelly beans from the top shelf then.”

 

“You do know I am taller than you now,” he reminds her. “By a lot.”

 

“Can you get them with having to use your crutches?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at him. The hesitation on his face is all she needs as an answer. “That’s what I thought.”

 

Indignation is written all over him as he says, “I took a bullet for you.”

 

“Oh my God,” she says, shaking her head. “You’re gonna use that for years, aren’t you?”

 

“You’d be disappointed if I didn’t,” he replies without hesitation, and it’s true. She would be.

 

“ _ Fine _ .” Jules rolls her eyes with a dramatic sigh. “I’ll get you your jelly beans, Bug, even if it means trudging all the way back up here to bring them to you.” 

 

“I appreciate your sacrifice,” Nate deadpans. “You’re a real hero, Jules.”

 

She flicks him in the ear as she goes. She tries to do it again when she delivers his jelly beans, but he swats her hand away and throws a pencil at her. He misses her again - although she knows this time it’s on purpose - but that doesn’t stop her from sticking her tongue out at him before she heads back downstairs.

 

Her talk with Nate leaves her light and she skips her way back down the stairs, humming under her breath. Although, if she’s being honest with herself, she was already light to begin with. She’s been light since…

 

_ Alex _ .

 

Usually when she wakes up after dreams like the one she had this morning, she’s somber. Withdrawn. Sometimes it takes a few days to shake it off, especially when the dreams recur. But not today. No, today she woke up with a certain man in her bed who talked her down, who held her, who was just  _ there _ . All the physical stuff is nice - she snorts; it’s more than  _ nice _ \- but it’s his presence that makes everything seem  _ better _ . She finds solace in his words and comfort in his arms. The idea of that is still scary, but the reality of it… isn’t.

 

He just makes things  _ better _ .

 

Even if there still is a nagging hint of guilt buried underneath it all.

 

“Look at you,” her mother says as Jules wanders into the living room. 

 

“Oh!” Jules jumps, her hand flying to her chest. “God, Mom, what’re you trying to do, give me a heart attack?” 

 

Felicity ignores her completely, closing the distance between them. “Do I spy a  _ grin _ on your face?” 

 

Jules wants to say no and shrug her off, but her traitorous face just keeps  _ smiling _ . “I’m having a good day, that’s all.”

 

“Because…” her mother fishes, giving her a look says she already knows  _ exactly  _ why.

 

“Because…” Jules replies. “Some days are just good days. That’s all.” 

 

Her cheeks start to warm, though, and she knows exactly how red her face can get. But even if she wasn’t blushing, Jules knows her mother isn’t fooled for a second. She doesn’t push, content to sit back and watch her daughter with her own barely-muted smile, but giving Jules a reason to be let off the hook, it encourages the sudden giddy burst of happiness in Jules’ chest. 

 

“And some days…” Jules adds, biting her lip to try and contain her grin, but it’s hopeless. “Some days you have a friend who says all the right things and makes you feel like the most important person in the whole world.”

 

Felicity gives her a conspiratorial look. “Sounds like a very good friend.” 

 

“He’s the best,” Jules admits with a little laugh, scrunching up her nose and shaking her head at herself. “God, I sound ridiculous, don’t I?”

 

“I don’t think you sound ridiculous at all,” her mom replies, brushing a piece of hair behind Jules’ ear. “I think you sound  _ happy _ . And I’ve got to tell you, I kinda love it. A lot.”

 

“Yeah,” Jules agrees, biting her lip. “Me too.”

 

“Good,” Felicity says, running her hands up and down Jules’ arms. “I’m happy for you.” 

 

When she doesn’t let Jules go - her hands continue running up and down her arms, a sedate smile on her lips and oddly silent - Jules knows something’s wrong.

 

Her good mood starts to sink.

 

“What is it?” Jules prods.

 

“I’m trying to figure out if this is going to help or hurt your mood,” her mother admits, drawing out the words. “Because while you  _ do _ need to know, I don’t want to burst your bubble.”

 

Jules blinks. “Burst my bubble?” 

 

“Yeah. You know…  _ pop _ ,” her mother replies, overemphasizing the  _ pop _ with a smack of her lips and a light squeeze of her hands. “That fragile little bundle of happiness you’ve got going on. I wanna wrap it in bubble wrap… Huh. Wrap a bubble in bubble wrap. That’s a funny concept when you think about it.”

 

“ _ Mom _ .” 

 

“Right,” Felicity says. “So, I’ve got a little bit of info for you about our guest back at headquarters.”

 

“I cannot believe she still hasn’t cracked,” Jules grumbles. “All kidding aside, give me an hour alone with her and I’ll get some answers.”

 

“Yeah, well, I’d prefer you not murder anyone, so that won’t be happening.”

 

“First of all, I wouldn’t  _ kill _ her exactly.” Felicity raises an eyebrow and Jules amends, “ _ Probably _ . I’d just make her wish she were dead.”

 

“Torture really isn’t better, Julianna.” 

 

“She shot at me,” Jules says point-blank. “I want to know why.”

 

“Well…” her mother says. “I think we might.”

 

Jules freezes. “Explain,” she demands, her voice low and verging on dangerous. 

 

“At the time Jackson was killed, Patrice was doing time in Iron Heights for money laundering,” Felicity informs her. “The prosecutor failed to make his case on conspiracy to commit murder, murder, and murder for hire, but that doesn’t make her innocent. She’s a hitwoman, Jules.”

 

“For who?” Jules asks. “And how’d she get the gun?”

 

“From whoever hired those four hitmen, because they hired her, too,” Felicity replies. “We’re close, honey. Bits and pieces of her life are starting to come to light. I’m following up on some leads about her past clients and targets. And Lyla’s having a  _ chat _ with her as we speak.”

 

Jules raises an eyebrow, the perfect mirror image of the one Felicity had just had. “I thought you didn’t want any torture?” she asks her mother. 

  
“I don’t want  _ you _ torturing anyone, Jules,” Felicity says, tugging her close to drop a kiss on her cheek. “There’s a difference. Now suit up. We have work to do.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for being a bit behind with replying to comments. I'll get to my replies in the next couple of days. I've read them all and I'm very grateful for them, but I've had a lot going on these past few weeks. In the meantime... I can't call this chapter the calm before the storm because it's not calm, really (and Jules is a storm unto herself), but there's some big stuff brewing for next week. Big Big Big stuff. For now... this chapter has one of two scenes that had me full-on crying while writing. So... enjoy with tissues and chocolate!

 

By the time the night is through, Jules and the rest of the team have tracked down and questioned four of Patrice Kennedy’s known business contacts. Every last one of them is shady and ready to talk but none of them seem to have any idea of a connection between the hitwoman locked up in the sub-level of their lair and The Arrow, or the Queen family. 

 

It takes forever, and each time they don’t get any new information, a fresh well of frustration bubbles to life in Jules’ chest. She placates herself with harder-than-necessary interrogation techniques and checking the shadows and rooftops for the man in the ski mask. Ever since that night he’d intervened and saved her life, she’s looked for him, but he’s nowhere. She can’t decide if she’s more curious or disappointed that she doesn’t find him each time, and wonders if that was just a freak accident. 

 

A friendly neighborhood burglar trying to get karma points with the vigilantes, perhaps?

 

The thought is amusing and it keeps her company until the night’s over.

 

When the sun starts peeking across the horizon and they still have no solid information, Jules is met with sympathy on her family’s faces. But for once, she shrugs it off. 

 

“Process of elimination, right?” Jules asks. A few of them blink at her in surprise, clearly expecting something more along the lines of throwing something. A few days ago she probably would have. Instead Jules takes a fortifying breath. “What they don’t know helps narrow things for us, too. We’ll get there.”

 

The pride on her mom’s face is a little much and Jules ducks her head. 

 

“Got plans today?” Ellie asks. 

 

The question is innocent enough, but the knowing tone under the words has Jules glancing at her sister. She’s stretching out the kinks from the long night, contorted around her legs, looking at Jules from under a wall of blonde hair. It’s not her sister that catches her attention, though. 

 

It’s the woman standing behind her.

 

Normally Sara wouldn’t even be here today. She had use-or-lose vacation time and she clearly doesn’t know how to take time off, which means she’s down here… 

 

And currently staring at Ellie’s ass… well, she is, that is, until Jules clears her throat.

 

Sara starts, her eyes snapping to Jules, a sheen of red coloring her cheeks.

 

God,  _ these two. _

 

“Honestly,” Felicity mutters from somewhere behind Jules. She can practically hear her mother rolling her eyes. 

 

“I need to be at the gallery this afternoon,” Jules says, eyes lingering on Sara for a moment before looking to Ellie. “Thought I’d bring Will a coffee on my way home, then try and nap for a bit before I go. Oh, and I have plans tonight after we hit the streets, so I don’t wanna stay out too late.”

 

Ellie raises an eyebrow. “Plans?”

 

That same knowing tone is there and Jules narrows her eyes.

 

“Yes,” she replies, dragging it out. “Plans.” 

 

“And these plans are…” Ellie fishes. 

 

“None of your business? Yes, you are correct!” Jules gives her a painfully fake smile. “Your prize is that I don’t kick your ass for not even  _ trying  _ to mind your own business.”

 

“Everyone here already knows you and Alex have a thing,” Sara says, her voice loud.

 

Jules starts, her heart lodging itself in her throat as her eyes fly to Sara. A thick silence settles over the room before Jules looks around, because that can’t possibly be true. And yet it is. Her mom definitely knows and judging by the look on her dad’s face, he does, too. Ellie and Sara clearly both do and  _ someone _ must have clued in Digg, Lyla and Eric because they all seem thoroughly unsurprised. 

 

“We don’t have a… thing,” Jules says, hating the way she says it. She doesn’t sound very convincing even to herself. She huffs. “We’re just friends.”

 

“If that were true, you’d tell Will and he’d be thrilled,” Sara points out. “But it’s not, so you haven’t, which means I’m stuck keeping a secret from my teammate. Which is definitely not going to blow up in all of our faces at all.”

 

“Or… it’s not your business,” Jules suggests, her hackles rising. “Or Will’s. Or anyone else’s. You should spend more time worrying about your own  _ friendships _ and leave mine alone.”

 

Sara jerks back like she’s been slapped. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

 

“You know exactly what it means,” Jules snaps back. “It means you’re checking out my sister’s ass every thirty seconds and trading these stupidly  _ longing  _ looks, but instead of doing anything about it, you’ve been friend-zoning her for  _ years.  _ She deserves better than that, don’t you think?”

 

The silence that follows is deafening. The only sound is Sara’s footfalls as she falls back as Ellie whispers, “Oh God.” A splotchy red colors her sister’s face and neck and she’s wide-eyed with shock as she stares at Jules. Sara looks like a wild animal that’s been cornered.

 

“That’s not… She’s…” Sara’s eyes dart to Ellie’s before looking away, so fast Jules wonders if it even happened. “She’s my best friend.”

 

Jules scoffs. “She’s been in love with you since she was twelve.”

 

“Jules!” Ellie growls. “That’s enough.” 

 

“It’s true,” Jules counters, looking back to her sister. “And she knows it’s true. I’m tired of watching you stand there waiting for this  _ thing _ to turn into something more, but she’s still keeping you at arm’s length. It’s not fair.”

 

“Stop,” Ellie demands. She’s pointedly not looking at Sara, even as Sara watches her. “Just stop, Jules.”

 

“Why?” Jules asks. “Are you finally going to do something about it? Because it’s way past time to address the elephant in the room, if you ask me.”

 

“No one  _ did _ ask you!” Ellie snaps, her voice reverberating. 

 

All Jules can do is blink. Had she planned this conversation, Jules would have expected her sister to be embarrassed, and probably timid about it, because it’s well-known how much she loves Sara. It’s part of the freaking family lore at this point. But looking at her now, Jules is surprised to find that she’s neither. She’s flushed, but it’s not with embarrassment. 

 

It’s  _ anger _ .

 

“You don’t get a say here,” Ellie adds, bunching her hands into fists. “I know your own feelings are an  _ inconvenience  _ for you, Jules, but that doesn’t mean they extend to other people’s emotions, too. And I am  _ not  _ going to sit here and have you judge my relationships. Do you understand?”

 

“I’m trying to help you!” Jules retorts.

 

“No,” Ellie tells her, her hands coming up like she wants to grab her. They linger in the air, shaking, before a dark, sardonic laugh falls from her lips. “You’re not.”

 

“What are you-”

 

“It’s not her,” Ellie interrupts, her voice rising. “It’s me.  _ I’m  _ the one who made the choice for us to not be together, not her.”

 

“What?” Jules asks. For a second she thinks she heard her sister wrong. There’s no  _ way _ that Ellie would turn Sara down, not ever. She’s loved Sara for nearly her entire life… and yet, when Jules looks at Sara it’s to find the other woman staring at the floor, her tightened jaw working back and forth.

 

Ellie hasn’t looked at Sara once.

 

Jules shakes her head, trying to understand. “But…”

 

“No,” Ellie snaps. “You don’t know half as much as you think you do, Jules. Not about us. You don’t…” She pauses, letting out a ragged sigh. She’s vibrating with agitation as she glares at Jules. “Just because I have feelings for her doesn’t mean I want to be with her. I get to make that choice.  _ Me _ . I get to decide what’s worth it and what’s not. We are good friends -  _ great  _ friends, even - and that’s what I need most. I’m not looking for anything else. Got it?”

 

Sadness washes through Jules. She gets where Ellie is coming from - loving Sara has never been easy on her and everyone has their breaking point - but Jules has learned that pulling your punches isn’t the right move, either. It might keep you from bruising your knuckles, but you’ll always be left not knowing what could have happened.

 

“Ellie,” Jules says, her voice soft. “Life is too short to wait for the good parts to happen.”

 

“Yeah?” Ellie retorts. “Did Alex tell you that?”

 

The words are meant to cut, to turn the tables, but they don’t pack the punch she thinks they do.

 

“No,” Jules replies, a mournful smile pulling at her lips. “Jackson did.”

 

The air evaporates from Ellie’s sails in the blink of an eye and she freezes. Tense silence fills the bunker, nobody moving, barely breathing. Ellie just stares at her sister, and Jules returns the look, knowing she’s right, even if Ellie won’t admit it. Jules can see Sara staring at the floor from the corner of her eye, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle, an inadvertent third to their hostile triangle.

 

Nothing happens, not until Oliver clears his throat and moves between them.

 

“We’ve had a long night,” he says. “Everyone’s tired.”

 

“I’m good, actually,” Eric chimes in. “I could use some popcorn if they keep this up, though, because this entertainment is  _ prime _ .”

 

Jules and Oliver turn as one to glare at him, but Lyla saves them from having to respond.

 

“If you’re so alert and entertained,” the older woman says, “why don’t you go see how our guest is doing downstairs?”

 

It’s not a suggestion, something Eric gets when his face crumples.

 

“Aw, man,” he says. “Do I gotta?”

 

“Yeah,” Lyla replies, no room left for argument. “You  _ ‘gotta.’ _ Hop to it, kid.”

 

Oliver shoots her a grateful look as Eric stomps off, grumbling about missing all the good stuff.

 

But when he turns back to his daughters, his face is serious again. “Go home,” he orders. “Let this rest before one of you says something you’ll regret later. Got it?”

 

They don’t respond right away. Ellie hasn’t looked away from Jules, not once, and when Jules looks back at her, she catches hints of the struggle that Ellie’s fighting so hard to ignore. The conflict in her eyes clashes with the reality she’s trying to force, but before Jules can say anything more, she looks away. 

 

“Yeah,” is all Ellie says before she turns.

 

Jules sighs, watching her walk away. She casts a glance at Sara, but she’s already turned away, adding to the distance between the two women.

 

God, it’s just so  _ dumb _ .

 

Her gaze catches on Digg who gives her an approving look before rolling his eyes in solidarity. Jules snorts with a grin. He’s as close to his wit’s end with Ellie and Sara as she is. As everyone in the entire room probably is. But their team leader has declared an end to their very long night, and so she lets it rest for the night. Jules thinks she should feel guilty, but it’s hard to watch it continue on, to  _ see _ it and not say anything. To watch them dance around each other, pretending like something isn’t brewing.

 

If they aren’t careful, it’s going to blow up on them, leaving irreparable damage in its path.

 

Jules scrubs her face. She knows a little something about burying feelings, doesn’t she? 

 

Her heart skips a beat at that thought. Really, that she’s able to think it at all. She thinks back to how she’d woken up, how Alex had been there to comfort her, to  _ listen _ . And that she’d wanted to talk to him. To share. Her heart trips all over itself for an entirely different reason and she bites her lips to hide a smile that threatens to take over her entire face.

 

Thinking about being in bed with Alex has the opposite effect, though. 

 

Jules yawns, stretching until her back lets out a quick series of pops. 

 

She changes back into her street clothes and waves goodbye to her family before heading out. Neither Ellie nor Sara look at her as she goes, and she almost stops to say something before changing her mind. Honestly, if that were her, she wouldn’t have just ignored her, she would’ve thrown something right at her head.

 

Exhaustion tugs at every inch of her, but she ignores it, steering herself toward Will’s place. But first, coffee. She stops at the independent coffee shop at the top of his street called Java Jive, her blood  _ aching _ for caffeine. They make a damn good latte even if their interior is a spattering of 50s decor and uniforms that remind her of the rundown diners you see in horror movies. She orders two - a half-caf for her because she does intend to sleep eventually that morning - and heads over to Will’s.

 

She knocks on his door with her elbow, but no answer comes. Jules stands there for a stupid amount of time, a testament to how tired she is, thinking about how much effort it would require to get her keys out and let herself in. In the end, she decides it’s too much work - and she doesn’t want to invite the horror of Will having potentially made up with his ex and their stumbling in half-naked - and settles down cross-legged in front of his door instead.

 

“Guh,” she mumbles, her face crinkling up at the thought of seeing more of her brother than she ever wants to. “No, thank you.”

 

She has more self-preservation than that.

 

Jules leans back against his door. She raises her her coffee in a gesture of good morning to his neighbors heading down the hall for their commutes to work. Their days are starting, but hers is verging on done, and that becomes more and more evident with each minute that passes. She eventually rests her head against the door and closes her eyes, sipping her coffee.

 

Familiar footfalls echo from down the hall. She doesn’t have to peek open her eyelids to know it’s her brother. Either way, his chuckle gives him away.

 

“Are you sleep-drinking coffee?” Will asks.

 

“Shhh,” Jules replies, not opening her eyes as she takes another swig. “Don’t judge.”

 

“You brought me Java Jive,” he notes. “I’m not judging anything right now.”

 

“Who says that’s for you?” she teases, finally opening her eyes. “Maybe I got myself two.”

 

“And camped out on my doorstep?” he counters, offering her a hand that she takes. “That would just be cruel. C’mon, that can’t be comfy.”

 

He hauls her up as Jules concedes, “I’ve definitely napped in better places. I suppose you’ve earned your coffee.”

 

“I had to earn it?” he asks, fiddling with his keys in the lock.

 

“Yeah, but you already did.” Jules stoops down to pick up his cup, handing it to him the moment he gets his door open. “Congratulations, here is your prize.”

 

“Thanks,” he says, and the light layer of sarcasm has her elbowing him, earning a laugh from both of them. Will takes a sip and gestures to the family room. “You want anything? Beth and I made cinnamon rolls the day before last. I think I have a few left. Unless she snuck over and took them while I was at work, which is possible.”

 

Jules laughs. Beth would do that. She shakes her head, though, walking over to his sofa instead. “Nah, I’m good. All I need is coffee and this fantastically comfortable sofa of yours.” She collapses on the end of it with a bone-deep sigh, curling up. She pulls a nearby throw blanket over herself and cuddles in, hugging her coffee as she pets the arm of the sofa like it’s a dog. “Hello, old friend.”

 

“You’re ridiculous,” Will says, sitting next to her. “Not that I object, but any reason you chose my sofa for your morning nap instead of your perfectly good bed?”

 

“I wanted to chat.” She can’t fight a yawn and she talks through it. “But now I want to become one with your sofa and never move again.”

 

“Jules, it’s a secondhand ten-year-old piece of crap that I bought off my stepfather for twenty bucks and a pot of chili,” Will points out. “And there’s a broken spring that I’m pretty sure you’re laying on right now.”

 

She scowls at him because yeah, now that he mentioned it, she does feel something poking her side. “Why don’t you just buy a new one?” Jules asks.

 

Will gives her a droll look. “Two minutes ago you thought this was the most comfortable place on earth.”

 

“That was before I noticed its sharp claw springs digging into me,” Jules replies. “You ruined it for me. You need a new sofa.”

 

“What I need is to pay my mortgage and homeowners association dues,” he says dryly. “Firefighters don’t exactly make bank, you know.”

 

“Will…” Jules huffs, sitting up enough to put one of her hands over his. “I know you tend to forget this, but you’re a billionaire. You can buy a new sofa. You can buy a sofa  _ store _ if you want.”

 

“I’m not touching Moira Queen’s money,” Will says quietly, but he practically spits their grandmother’s name. “I’d rather sit on the floor.”

 

“Okay,” she says, holding up her hand in placation. “Okay, fine. But don’t be surprised if you get a really large-sized Christmas present this year.”

 

“I don’t want you spending her money on me either,” he snaps, damn near taking her head off.

 

“I have me-money, Will,” Jules reminds him. “I do sell some paintings, you know.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” he replies, looking a little sheepish. She makes a face at him, but they both know she’s just needling him. She, more than anyone, is very well aware of how deep his issues with Moira go. “Which reminds me, I  _ might _ have plans to go to your exhibit opening.”

 

Jules brightens and sits up more. “Really?”

 

“I made sure I have that night off,” Will promises her. “Especially since I missed last year for work. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

 

She grins, affection for her big brother rushing through her. “Thanks, Will.”

 

“Of course,” he says, nudging her hip with his elbow. She gives a half-hearted scowl when he digs it in more just to annoy her and he does the same right back to her. “So,” Will ventures. “You wanna tell me what you came here to talk about?”

 

Jules sobers at that.  _ Right _ . She sighs and bites her lips, turning to look at her coffee cup where it’s still cradled to her chest, considering her words. Close as they are, this is still a touchy subject. For lots of reasons.

 

“It’s kind of personal,” she finally says.

 

“Jules, you showed up as a teenager to ask if not having an orgasm the first time you had sex meant you did something wrong,” Will reminds her. “I’m pretty sure we’re way past personal.”

 

“Okay, first of all,” Jules says, looking at him, unable to keep her face from flushing because she really had done that. “Yes, I did that and in hindsight I’m impressed you were even able to form words at that, much less give me the advice you did. I’m trying to picture Nate doing the same thing to me and I wanna die.”

 

Will laughs. “There’s a zero percent chance of Nate coming to you with that, and not just because he can’t manage to form a coherent sentence around anyone he likes. Also, I did wanna die.”

 

“ _ Secondly _ ,” Jules continues, because she really would like to forget that ever happened, “I didn’t necessarily mean personal for me. At least, not entirely.”

 

Will furrows his brow, quirking his head in question, but he also smiles. It’s a little guarded, though, and she knows it’s because he has no idea where she’s going with this. She’s not really sure if knowing would make it any easier, though.

 

“I had a question about your mom,” Jules says.

 

That’s the last thing he’s expecting judging by the way he starts. She watches him quietly, the statement hanging in the air, letting him regroup. She knows talking about his mom hurts, even if she’s been gone for eight years now. Time patches over wounds, knitting you back together bit by bit like scar tissue. But that does nothing for the phantom pain that never really goes away. It aches without warning in a way that echoes through you, always reminding you of what you’ve lost. Will’s had more distance for his loss than she’s had from hers - and the nature of it is different - but she’s pretty sure that principle applies all the same. 

“You can tell me no, if you want to,” she adds after a moment of silence.

 

“No, it’s fine,” Will says, though she doesn’t believe him for a second. “You just surprised me. That’s all.”

 

He’s so sober, so serious, that for a second he hardly looks like her brother. Gone is the good-natured, jovial boy she’s looked up to her whole life, and in his place is a wounded man whose loss is etched in every line of his somber face.

 

“Ask me, Jules,” he prods. “You wouldn’t have brought this up if you didn’t need to. I know that.”

 

She sighs and nods, gripping her coffee tightly, letting the comfort of its lingering warmth bolster her. Her thumb flicks at the edge of the cup’s sleeve as she tries to find the right words.

 

“I guess what I need to know is how you let yourself see my mom like another mom to you,” Jules says, “without feeling like you were replacing your mother.”

 

Her voice is unsteady by the end of the sentence, belying the bundle of nerves gathering in her stomach. She’s peeled back a flap of her life and even if it’s with someone she trusts with everything in her, it’s still not easy. And even makes her a little nauseous. Will’s always been able to read her like a book - he probably knows her better than anyone. She needs an answer, though, she needs something to ground her in the face of what Alex said.

 

That self-reassurance doesn’t keep her eyes from darting to him in anxious fits as she waits.

 

Will fixes her with a thoughtful look, one that goes right through her as he lets out a heavy sigh.

 

“It’s different, Jules,” he tells her. “Me losing my mom and you losing Jackson… it’s different.”

 

“I know,” she admits. 

 

“Felicity had been my stepmom for a long time,” Will continues. “I’d loved her as a mother figure for years before I lost my mom.”

 

“I know that, too,” she agrees.

 

“Okay.” He nods, chewing the edge of his lip before continuing. “I was lucky that my mom and Felicity got along. They respected each other and, even though they were never exactly friends, they liked each other.”

 

Jules just nods. 

 

“You won’t remember this,” he says, a small smile pulling at his lips. The gesture erases the grief for a second, replacing it with a lightness that makes him look years younger. “But there was one time I was maybe ten when I had a really bad case of pneumonia. I’m not sure if Ellie was even crawling yet. I’d been staying with you guys because my mom was on a business trip. Dad was so torn. He wanted to stay home with me, but it was days before Moira’s reelection and he was her chief of staff at the time.”

 

“What happened?” 

 

That soft smile of his grows as he looks at her. “Your mom didn’t leave my side for three days,” Will tells her. “She sent you and Ellie to Grandma Donna’s so you wouldn’t get sick and she played video games with me and made me eat canned chicken soup that she sprinkled parsley on top of so it would look like it was homemade. She thought it would make me feel better.”

 

Jules’ smiles matches his. “Did it?” she asks.

 

“Nah, but she did,” Will says. “I was pretty miserable, hacking up a lung and sore and tired. But she would sit with me and run her fingers through my hair and make sure there was water in the humidifier and rub my back when I coughed. I felt awful, but I also felt cared for.”

 

“She’s pretty good at being there when you need her most,” Jules adds, her own memories of Felicity doing similar things for her rising up. 

 

“She is,” Will agrees. “And do you know what happened when my mom got back from her trip?”

 

“What?”

 

“My mom hugged Felicity like she never wanted to let go and I heard her say,  _ ‘Thank you for being there for him when I couldn’t be,’ _ ” Will recites. His eyes water up and his throat clogs at the memories. “And Felicity said,  _ ‘I’m glad that I could be.’ _ When I think about my mom and Felicity, that’s what I remember. I don’t have to wonder how my mom would feel about me letting Felicity be another mother to me. I already know. She told me herself.”

 

Tears blur her vision and she blinks them away, leaning over to grip his hand, holding on to him as she whispers, “Oh, Will.” 

 

“I think when someone loves you, they want what’s best for you,” Will says, squeezing her fingers. “Even if it’s not with them.”

 

Jules studies him silently, wondering how much of that is from another facet of his life. She’s not fooled for a second into thinking it’s his most recent breakup that has him so introspective. She’s only really seen him attached to two women, and only one of those he looks back on with regret.

 

She wants to ask, but the subject is heavy enough, so she saves it for later.

 

“So,” Will says, squeezing her hand once before letting her go and settling back to look at her fully. “You gonna tell me about the guy that’s got you asking me about this?” 

 

Her eyes widen before she can stop them and she tries to cover it with a shrug, shrugging him off as she curls back into her corner of the sofa. “It was rhetorical, Will.”

 

“Jules…” He raises as eyebrow at her. “Come on.”

 

_ Damn it. _ Really, damn  _ him _ and his big-brotherness.

 

“He’s… a friend.”

 

“A friend?” 

 

“Yeah, a friend,” Jules says with another shrug that she hopes is far more nonchalant than her last one. But now that the words are out there, floating around, she realizes that’s not exactly right. “He’s… well, sometimes… sometimes he’s a maybe. Sometimes I look at him and think if I were just a little bit less messed up, if I hadn’t ever known Jackson, then…” Her voice gets quiet, her mind projecting a future she would never have considered even a few weeks ago. “Maybe.”

 

They’re both quiet for a moment, before Will nods. She glances at him to see a quiet smile on his face, one filled with a little bit of happiness… and maybe even a little bit of pride.

 

“Maybe isn’t a bad place to start,” he says. “But I think it’s a mistake to think that everything with Jackson didn’t lead you to being who you are today, to being in a place where this guy  _ is _ a maybe. It doesn’t have to be an either-or thing, you know. You don’t have to pick one over the other. Relationships are way more complicated than that. Especially in your case.”

 

And just like, that in the space of a few seconds, he nailed it right on the head.

 

Jules narrows her eyes. “You’re pretty smart, you know that?” 

 

“Just a little trial and error,” he informs her, his voice getting lofty. “We learn from our failures, right? So that means I know a lot. You should definitely listen to me. I’m incredibly educated.”

 

Jules laughs, but she also takes his words at the face value that they are and leans back towards him, poking his shoulder. “You aren’t a failure,” she says. “You just haven’t found a girl good enough for you yet.”

 

“Yeah, I did,” he replies with resigned certainty, not skipping a beat. “I just messed it up. But that’s okay. It’s a big world with a lot of people in it. And, maybe I’m in a better place now, to make things work, more than I was at that time. Knowing what you want is the first step toward getting it. I didn’t have a clue back then. I do now.”

 

“I’m not sure what I want,” Jules admits. She waves at the side of her head. “It’s all kind of a mess in my head still.”

 

“Well then, I guess your first step is figuring that out.”

 

“Yeah,” she says with a nod, just before a yawn attacks her. “Yeah, maybe it is. Thanks, Will.”

 

“Anytime.” Will gets up and presses a kiss to her forehead. “You gonna nap here or were you gonna head home?”

 

“Honestly, I don’t want to move for the next couple of hours,” she replies, scooting down the sofa more so that she’s lying down. She doesn’t even feel the broken spring nor does she realize that her coffee is about to spill. Will grabs it, setting it down on his equally crappy coffee table. She nods her thanks, yawning again, as she adds, “Like, four hours. At a minimum.”

 

“Sleep then,” he tells her, handing her a throw pillow that had fallen to the floor. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

 

“That’s such a gross thing to think about now,” Jules says, her voice fading.

 

Will laughs, smoothing her hair back. “Sleep well.”

 

She burrows beneath the blanket with a soft, “Will do,” and it’s not long before she’s out. 

 

As it turns out, it’s not four hours she doesn’t move from that spot. Instead, it’s more like six. 

 

When she wakes up, Will’s gone but there’s a sticky note on her forehead that says he’s free to talk again if she needs to, followed by offering her anything in the fridge that looks edible. That’s a risk she’s not up for taking, and instead heads to grab Bokeh before going into work for a bit. Thank goodness her dog sitter is used to her ‘quirky artist hours’ and doesn’t mind keeping her lab overnight every once in a while. 

 

Her day goes by in fits and spurts. 

 

Sometimes she winds up lost in her thoughts, trying to figure out what she really wants, and it’s like the clock fast forwards. Others, she finds herself anxiously watching the time tick down, thinking ahead to the evening she plans to spend with Alex. It’s slower then.

 

Jules tries to fill the more sedate minutes by painting with Bokeh at her side, but that doesn’t exactly help because she keeps getting distracted by the splatter of color she and Alex made all those weeks ago. It’s pretty. It’s nothing more than an aimless spill, an accident, but it adds a splash of color to the otherwise gray floor. 

 

The symbolism is not lost on her. 

 

A little bit of peace and joy splashes its way across her canvas because of that, something that makes her smile. It also makes the painting itself infinitely better, fitting in with the rest of her exhibit series better than she could have planned for. 

 

By the time it’s late enough for her to show up at Arrow headquarters without raising eyebrows, she’s ready to bolt the hell out of there. Nothing passes time better than bringing the scum of the city to their knees with the slice of her chain whip through the air. 

 

She isn’t fast enough, though, because Martin stops her right as she’s hurrying out the door.

 

“You had another call from the university art department today,” he tells her. “Yet  _ again  _ wanting to make sure you’d be at the exhibit opening.”

 

Jules scowls. “One yes wasn’t enough?” 

 

Bokeh isn’t thrilled about being held up either. She’s just as antsy to be outdoors. 

 

“Not for this guy,” Martin replies. “Some first year professor just dying to make sure his students get the experience of talking to you personally. I told him we could set something up here, if he wanted a more dedicated conversation with them. It’s not like you don’t like showing off for the college kids-”

 

“I do not!”

 

Martin’s eyebrows fly up. “Uh, yeah you do. You love rubbing it in their little wide-eyed faces that you’re brilliantly successful. Don’t pretend you don’t. But anyhow, he said no. He just wants them to have a moment at the exhibit. He said he’d find you there.”

 

“Fine, whatever,” Jules huffs, adjusting the collar to her coat. “What’s his name?”

 

“Professor Tyler Dalton.”

 

Jules freezes, her hand still on her collar. It’s a solid fifteen seconds before she moves, all the while Martin watching her like she’s grown three heads, with a tinge of concern that something might really be wrong. 

 

“Fucking  _ fucker _ ,” she finally breathes. 

 

“I take it you’re acquainted with Professor Dalton then?” 

 

“Yeah, he’s my fucking ex,” Jules snaps. “Fantastic.”

 

“Oh…” Martin replies, looking way too interested in this newly revealed fact. “Is this the infamous Mr. Bad Idea from college?”

 

“My old T.A.,” she confirms. “Before I was with Jackson. God, he  _ would  _ pull this shit.”

 

“Mr. Bad Idea sounded like he was also Mr. Good Times, unless I’m mistaken,” Martin notes. Off Jules’ look, he adds, “I’m just saying… unless Mr. Thai Food is hitting the spot…”

 

“Wow, you’re not even trying to mince words, are you?”

 

“If I minced words, you never would have hired me in the first place,” he points out. 

 

“Okay, true,” Jules agrees. “But still.”

 

“Two years ago you wandered into my old shop for a tattoo with the saddest, most determined face I’ve ever seen,” he says, crossing his monstrously huge arms in front of himself and giving her a glaring look. “You had your reasons for that and they were good ones. But you’re twenty-four. You’re pretty. You’re smart. You’re talented and successful. And you’re loaded.”

 

“Compliments won’t get you a raise,” Jules says, “but you’re welcome to continue.”

 

“You should have boys beating down your door begging to take you out, but you scare them all away.”

 

“If they’re that quickly scared off then they’re not worth my time.”

 

Martin rolls his eyes. “Do what you want, Jules. But if they don’t scare easy, maybe stop putting in so much effort.”

 

“You talking about Mr. Bad Idea or Mr. Thai Food?”

 

“Whoever suits you,” he replies. “I don’t give a shit, but getting laid on a regular basis really might help your mood. So I guess it is a little self-serving on my part.”

 

“Jerk,” she accuses before pausing a bit and considering her words. “But, just so you know, Mr. Thai Food definitely hits the spot. So…”

 

“Really?” Martin asks. 

 

“ _ So very _ hitting the spot… with appetizers anyhow.”

 

“Okay, I don’t want details, but I’m pretty sure you need a whole meal,” he replies. 

 

“You’re not wrong,” she says, her eyes slipping shut as she thinks about that whole meal. “I’m very hungry.”

 

“On that note, I gotta go, too,” Martin tells her. “My husband’s organized a birthday party for our dog because he’s the most ridiculous person in the world.”

 

“First of all, that’s the least ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Jules tells him. “Dustin is a brilliant man and a great dog-father. Secondly, I’m deeply insulted that Bokeh wasn’t invited.”

 

“Alright, you’re the two most ridiculous people in the world,” Martin amends. “And I forgot to give you an invitation.”

 

“Martin!” 

 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He sighs. “Look, if you didn’t have plans you’d be absolutely welcome. But I’m guessing you and Mr. Thai Food...”

 

“You could just call him Alex, you know,” Jules points out. 

 

“That’s less fun.”

 

Jules rolls her eyes at him. “Whatever. And yes, he and I have plans later, but if you wanted to take Bokeh to the puppy party, she’d probably rather be there.”

 

“Puppy sleepover party?” Martin considers. “It  _ would _ make Dustin happy.”

 

Jules holds out Bokeh’s leash for Martin. “I won’t even tell him you forgot to invite us.”

 

“Alright, deal,” Martin agrees. It’s not much of a sacrifice. Bokeh is so easy-going, getting along with nearly every dog who crosses her path, but especially his golden-doodle, Sprite. “Grab her back here tomorrow at lunchtime?” 

 

“Late lunchtime, okay?” Jules asks. “I don’t intend to be up early.”

 

Martin grins, wiggling his eyebrows. “Okay. Take your time and savor your morning. Get yourself a  _ full  _ breakfast. I’ll be hanging around here all day, anyhow.”

 

Jules grins and winks at him before bending down to kiss Bokeh on her forehead. And then she heads out, leaving any and all thoughts of Tyler for later… if ever.

 

Right now, it’s time to be Tempest.  

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up!

 

The metallic crack of her chain whip slicing through the air is one of Jules’ favorite noises in the world. The sense of control - of  _ purpose _ \- that comes with it is a natural high. 

 

It’s like a lightning strike, promising the coming storm she brings.

 

For a while, after Jackson died and she put on a mask, the only time she felt like herself - the only time she felt like a whole person - was with the whip in her hand. That’s not true anymore. She’s found her way back, clawed and fought toward a place where she’s okay, where she can smile and let herself have an identity beyond the confines of a mask. But it hasn’t been easy and there’s still a rightness to the persona she adopts that settles her and makes her feel empowered.

 

It helps that she’s grown a reputation, one that’s well-earned. 

 

Excitement powers her tonight. 

 

They’re closing in on the answers she needs about Jackson’s murder, the puzzle pieces they’ve collected are starting to come together, to make sense. That, coupled with her anticipation for later this evening, has energy thrumming through her. 

 

She’s  _ looking forward _ to spending time with Alex. Whether that means laughing with him over late night television or stealing bits of food while he cooks or finding herself wrapped in his arms in bed… She’s not sure she cares. She wants any of it. She wants  _ all _ of it. And the sense of guilt she feels for that is quickly being drowned out by a riot of joy.

 

Not everyone is the beneficiary of that happiness, though.

 

Her target scurries down an alleyway and she jumps to the next roof, never losing sight of him.

 

“This would go easier on you if you didn’t run,” she shouts down at him.

 

Her voice is all sing-song tones as she cracks her chain whip at the ledge in warning. It lands with a satisfying snap, but the guy doesn’t stop. With a long-suffering sigh -  _ will they ever learn? _ \- she jumps up onto the ledge and swings her whip out to wrap around the railing of a fire escape. She barely waits to make sure it’s secure. She knows it is. But caution keeps her alive. It was one of her father’s first lessons. So, she waits that extra beat in deference to her training before she’s leaping off the building, using it to swing down toward one of the jackasses they’d found breaking into a gun shop. He’s easy pickings and she’s toying with him more than anything, something her mother keeps chastising her for in her ear. 

 

But, she’s not listening. Not today. She’s having too much fun for that and it’s not like she’s putting anyone in danger. 

 

Well, no one except the bad guys. But, she can’t even try to feel bad about that. 

 

Her angle and momentum are perfect as she swings down from the rooftop. Jules slams into the would-be-thief’s back, sending him sprawling onto the asphalt.

 

Jules tsks, giving her chain a flick so it loosens from the railing above and curls back into itself in her hand. “You should’ve listened.” 

 

The guy tries to crawl away, but she kicks his ass, forcing him to sprawl out face-first on the rough ground. When he tries to get up, she slams her boot in his face, pinning him to the ground. 

 

“Skinned knees are no fun, but a skinned cheek is worse. Still better than whatever you had planned for that small armory worth of firepower you were trying to snag, though. You wanna tell me about that?”

 

"Crazy bitch,” the guy growls beneath her boot. “Hang up the chain whip when you’re PMSing.”

 

“Well, that’s just not nice,” she tells him, wrapping her chain whip around both of his wrists and tugging backward. He cries out as she yanks his shoulders back, nearly forcing them from their sockets on her first go. “I’m really not a fan of gendered insults. That’s  _ so _ 2010s of you. Get with the times.”

 

The string of profanity he lets out at that is even worse and she pulls harder. His words drown into gurgles as she puts her mouth down next to his ear. “You can stop,” she warns, “or I can dislocate  _ both _ of your arms. The choice is really up to you, but I’m increasingly hoping you go for option two.”

 

His side-eye glare at her is fierce, but he grits his teeth, finally staying silent. 

 

“Good boy.” She gives him a toothy smile, her eyes flashing like the lightning in the distant storm clouds looming behind the city. “Now, you’re going to tell me  _ all _ about what you had planned for that truckload of guns before we got in your way.”

 

“Donate ‘em to charity,” he snarks. 

 

“The charity of your own pocket or someone else’s?” she pushes. “Because that was an awfully big score for three guys in a minivan. Also, a minivan as a getaway car? Surprisingly suburban soccer mom for you.”

 

“ _ Soccer mom _ ?” he asks. “Man, when they catch you…”

 

“Well, now we’re getting somewhere.” She grabs his chin, tilting his head toward her. “When  _ who  _ catches me?”

 

Something that looks a helluva lot like fear flashes in his eyes and he clams up, his body stiffening. Jules narrows her eyes and with barely a flick of her wrist she wrenches one of his arms back until his shoulder releases with a sickening pop. The guy shouts in pain, drowning out her mother’s alarmed voice telling her not to get too rough. She pulls even harder, and she knows she’s about to tear through all his tendons if the sobs that fall out are any indication.

 

“Domino, okay?” the guy gasps, his voice cracking. “Domino’s boys.”

 

A few more puzzle pieces fall into place. “Because he’s making a move on the old Bertinelli territory.” 

 

“ _ Nobody’s _ running that part of town,” he says with a pained moan. “Irish got problems elsewhere, so they backed off. It’s ripe for takeover.” He moans again, trying to roll to the side to alleviate some of the pain in his arm. “You  _ bitch _ . We’re gonna bring you fuckin’ masks to your knees.”

 

“Hard to do when you’ve got your face planted in pavement,” Jules points out. “We’ve taken down much bigger threats than you and we’re the ones still standing. What’s that tell you about your odds? Why do you think the Bertinellis are even gone for you to take over their area?”

 

“You think that was  _ you _ ?” He laughs, even as his eyes well in pain. “You’re fucking delusional,  you know that? You and your wannabe caped crusaders.”

 

“We’re firmly anti-cape, thanks,” she bites out. “And you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“You people and your egos.” The guy shakes his head. “Your team might’ve been a thorn in the side for the Italian mob, but that was it. We’d have risen back up after Helena was gone if we’d had the money.”

 

Jules pauses, her voice quieting. “You were Italian mob?”

 

“Yeah,” he spits. “I was. And you people were  _ annoying _ , but that was it. It was Helena who took out her competition, not you guys. And we’d have kept at it even after she died if only the money hadn’t up and disappeared.”

 

“What money?” Jules presses. 

 

“Go to hell.”

 

“Wrong answer,” she snaps, twisting her hand to get his other shoulder.

 

“Wait, wait, wait!” the guy shouts, turning to stop her. “Fine! All of it, okay? All the fucking money was gone.” He lets out a bewildered laugh. “Money, guns, resources, they all just upped and vanished. Somebody cleaned us out. Definitely an inside job. Organized crime didn’t stop because of  _ you _ people. It stopped because we would’ve had to work our way back from the ground up.”

 

Something tickles at the edges of Jules’ mind, her breathing picking up as the pieces start to slot together to form a picture that hadn’t been there before. 

 

“Three years ago someone cleaned out the mob when they were brought down,” she realizes aloud. “And no one even noticed.”

 

“Not like anyone but Helena kept books,” her captive adds. “Not the sort with real numbers anyhow.”

 

“Oh my god,” Jules breathes. “That’s what it was about. Everything else was a distraction. It was all about a robbery.”

 

The realization floors her, as do all the implications of it, so much so that she doesn’t hear the footfalls behind her, not until Overwatch’s yells in her ear finally register.

 

A surge of adrenaline kicks in, quickly followed by instinct, and she moves, just enough that she winds up knocked to the side instead of with a knife in her throat. 

 

Jules rolls, dodging another stab, nearly crashing into a dumpster. She uses the momentum to get to her feet, falling into a familiar stance. The guy she’d had pressed to the ground takes advantage of his sudden freedom and scrambles away as fast as he can with his one good arm.

 

But he doesn’t go far, huddling behind the safety of his uninjured friend. 

 

“Had more than one minivan, bitch,” he says.

 

Jules ignores him, because he’s not the threat anymore. Even if he was, he’s barely anything compared to his friend, who is more than formidable. He towers over her, armed and pissed. He’s also, she realizes, not alone. Two more guys close in on them, one pulling out brass knuckles, the other breathing so heavy it’s like he’s trying to pump himself up for a fight. 

 

_ This is bad. _

 

She’s good - she’s  _ very _ good - but she’s not invincible. She doesn’t enjoy being reactive in a fight rather than taking charge, but that’s the way this is clearly going.

 

Her mom is shouting in her earpiece that she needs backup, but that doesn’t do her any good right now. She pushes the yells in her ear away, concentrating. She flicks her wrist, her chain whip a comforting presence where it coils at the ready. 

 

The greatest tool she has is her experience, but her chain whip comes in a close second.

 

Jules’ first move is to slap a gun from one of her assailant’s hands with the sharp tip of her weapon. It clatters away as she spins and grabs hold of another attacker’s arms with the tail of her whip, yanking hard so he careens into one of his buddies. She doesn’t waste the momentum, leaping into it, using it to propel herself into the third, knocking him into a wall.

 

She’s aiming for enough time to get away, to get a head start, or at the very least put some space between them until her backup arrives.

 

But they’re angry, and determined, and all of that is focused on her.

 

This is bad.

 

“Five minutes out is  _ not close enough _ ,” Felicity snaps at her father and Ellie in her earpiece. “Now! You need to be there now.  _ Now _ . Right now.”

 

All the insistence in the world can’t make her family materialize in front of her, though.

 

They all come at her at once, from all directions.

 

A knife slices through the sleeve of her arm, someone lands a punch against her kidneys, another one tries to grab her, to yank her off her feet. She deflects every single blow as best she can, and it takes every bit of her attention, but even that’s not quite enough. Alarms ring in the back of her mind but she ignores them, concentrating on the enemy.

 

She fights in close quarter hand-to-hand combat, breaking one guy’s wrist and ramming her fist in another’s temple, hard enough that he slams into the dumpster, a bloodied mess that collapses and doesn’t get back up. 

 

Triumph roars through her and she lets herself think for a single second that maybe she’ll be okay…

 

But she misses the guy she’d had pinned earlier. 

 

His dislocated arm swings uselessly at his side as he rushes around them, scrambling after the gun that’d skittered away earlier. He scoops it up and she manages to down one more of the goons, sending the other careening into the alley wall only to turn to see him pointing it straight at her.

 

Time stops, the world slowing down as she freezes, knowing in that split second that she won’t be fast enough to escape it.

 

His finger squeezes the trigger…

 

A blur comes out of nowhere, a black stick flying through the air, colliding with the guy’s arm. 

 

The gun flies from his grasp. It doesn’t have time to hit the ground before the man in the ski mask is there. He’s at the guy’s side in the blink of an eye, snatching his stick - a baston - off the ground, already spinning it to smack in the guy’s arm again. This time there’s a gut-wrenching crunch as it snaps his good arm, the momentum of it sending him careening. It’s not enough for the man in the ski mask. He goes after the goon, a wall of fury, and sweeps his legs out from under him. His body is deadweight when it hits the ground and the man in the mask rams the end of his stick right between his eyes, knocking him out cold.

 

Jules can only stare, her jaw dropping.

 

She should be dead… and she would’ve been, if he hadn’t shown up.

 

It’s the second time he’s done that.

 

A groan pulls her attention away, and she turns to see one of the two remaining conscious men crawling to his feet. Her own brand of fury roars through her and she launches herself at him, breaking both his knees just in time for the last guy to come after her. The man in the ski mask moves to intervene, but Jules is already there, snatching a flatchette from her belt and flinging it at the goon. It snaps open, the momentum of the steel wire inside forcing the man out of the alley and into a lamplight. The wire instantly wraps around him and then…

 

Silence.

 

No, not exactly. The scrape of a boot against concrete has Jules turning to her savior…

 

But he doesn’t seem keen to stick around for a thank you. Instead, the instant their eyes meet, he turns away. 

 

That doesn’t take away from the familiarity that strikes her.

 

“Wait!” she calls.

 

He freezes, his body all tension, like he’s ready to bolt, but he doesn’t move. He waits, following her command, but he doesn’t look at her. His gaze is glued to the ground.

 

Jules moves slowly, winding her chain whip back into place, circling him.

 

When she’s finally in front of him, the weight of his presence settles over her, and the familiarity of it strikes her all over again.

 

“I owe you a thank you,” she says.

 

_ Speak _ .

 

His only response is to tilt his head in acknowledgment and it’s nowhere near enough.

 

“You gonna tell me who I’m thanking?” Jules asks. She’s not sure what makes her turn off her voice modulator, but she does as she adds, “Come on, don’t leave a girl hanging.”

 

The sound of her normal voice has him stilling. The silence continues, for so long that she thinks he isn't going to say anything. But then he licks his lips, takes a steadying breath, and says, the words garbled by his own voice modulator, “Your father calls me Sentinel.”

 

Jules stops breathing. She knows him. She doesn’t know how, and she doesn’t recognize his voice with the modulator, but she knows him. And her father…? What? Her head’s spinning, but he doesn’t give her the chance to settle any of it before he’s speaking.

 

His gaze meets her’s before darting away as he adds, “You can do the same.”

 

And then he turns, bolting away.

 

“No, wait!” Jules calls, but he doesn’t listen this time. 

 

She glances at her restrained attackers, spotting Ellie at the end of the street a second later. That’s all the reassurance she needs.

 

Jules goes after him.

 

He doesn’t want to be caught. He’s fast and agile, and he’s smart, evaluating his surroundings and acting accordingly. He doesn’t pause for a second, even when the sky breaks open and the rain that’s been looming over the city all evening starts to fall. 

 

Jules doesn’t try to miss the fast-forming puddles in her path, charging right through them instead, hot on his heels. Every thought in her head screams at her that she has to see him. She only saw his eyes for a split second in the dull streetlight back in the alley, but it’s enough to tell her that… 

 

Tell her what?

 

It rattles through her, the masked rumble of his voice skating over her, dancing out of reach, like a memory of something else.

 

Of another time, another place.

 

“Wait!”

 

Her muscles burn and the leather of her suit sticks to her in the rain, but she presses on. She’s every bit as fast as him, but no faster. What makes the difference, though, is how well she knows her city. This is her turf, not his, and soon enough he makes the wrong decision, turns down the wrong way, and winds up in a dead end alley with no easy escape.

 

Jules turns the corner, skidding to a stop, watching him look around, but there’s nowhere to go but where she stands.

 

“I just want to talk to you,” she shouts, the words muffled by the weather.

 

Her lungs ache for oxygen she can’t get fast enough and she takes the second to breathe, just watching him. Her father tells her to let it go just as her mother suggests she comes back to base. Jules turns her comm off instead of answering them, brushing water from her mask. It’s fruitless, though. The rain has shifted into a downpour, drenching both of them. It beats a heavy drum against the ground and she strains to hear more of him, the cadence of his breath as much as his voice.

 

“Why’d you save me?” Jules asks, stepping closer to him. He stands facing the dead end, his back to her, his shoulders hunched. His baston stick is clenched tightly in his grasp, a hold she recognizes from training with her father. Her heart pounds in her throat. “Why are you following me?”

 

He doesn’t answer.

 

They stay like that, neither moving, the pounding rain the only sound. 

 

Finally, it’s too much. Jules paces around him, just like earlier,  _ needing _ to see him. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move a muscle, even when she leaves the alleyway wide open. He could bolt again. Maybe she’d catch him or maybe she wouldn’t. All it would take to stop him if he did run is a simple flick of her chain whip to trip him up, to keep him there, but she won’t do that. All he’s done is help her and if he doesn’t want to answer her questions, her curiosity won’t lead to cruelty, no matter how much it burns.

 

But he makes no move to leave. 

 

He’s stock-still, staring at the ground, his breathing slowly evening out. He closes his eyes, bowing his head, and she wonders if he is in fact about to dart away…

 

But then he opens his eyes again and looks right at her.

 

Jules stops breathing, her heart stuttering to a stop. Warm, honey-brown eyes with a hint of longing… Even in the dark, in the pouring rain, they slice right through her, just like they always have.

 

“Oh my god,” she breathes. “Alex?”

 

His name is a question on her lips, but there’s no doubt in her mind who stands before her.

 

She closes the distance between them, not giving him a chance to react, not that he needs one, because doesn’t move. Jules pulls his mask off. The wet fabric clings to him, catching on his scruff, but he still doesn’t move, not when she yanks it the rest of the way off. 

 

“Oh my god,” she whispers, horror lacing her voice. His familiar face is a knife to the chest and she stumbles back a few steps, his mask clenched tight in her fist. She wants to rip it to shreds as much as she wants to throw it at him as hard as she can. “What the hell are you thinking?”

 

Alex stares right at her, not backing down, his jaw tight. “I’m thinking I can’t sit at home listening to the police scanner hoping I don’t hear your name anymore,” he rasps.

 

He’s been out here, risking his life, facing danger she can’t let herself even  _ begin _ to comprehend… for how long? For what? Thoughts spiral through her, overwhelming her, pulling her under a tidal wave of panic that has her wanting to claw at her suit, at him, at  _ everything _ . 

 

“You… You can’t be out here,” Jules says, shaking her head. It’s the only thing she can think to say, the only thing that matters. This can’t be happening. She needs to deny this, to push him back into his safe, quiet house she likes so much, where things are perfect and normal. Her chest tightens to the point of pain. “You can’t be out here, Alex.”

 

“I gotta be,” Alex counters. “If you’re out here taking on the world, how am I supposed to be anywhere else?”

 

“No,” she snaps, a roar filling her ears. She growls, getting in his face. “ _ No _ , you have to be somewhere else.  _ Anywhere _ else. This isn’t your life. You aren’t  _ Sentinel _ . You don’t belong on these streets. You need to go home. You need to  _ go _ .”

 

“I saved your life twice,” he says. His voice is soft, so gentle that tears burn her eyes. She tries to grit her teeth against them, but then he tilts his head, his gaze driving into hers, and she  _ feels _ his words as if they were a caress. 

 

It doesn’t dull the terror thundering inside her; it  _ adds _ to it and it’s all she can do to not scream. 

 

“Alex…”

 

“Maybe you’d have made it anyhow,” he continues, his voice rising to talk over her. “I don’t know, Julianna, but I do know it was worth the risk for me.”

 

“No,” she says -  _ how can he say that? _ \- but he cuts her off, cupping her face. The heat of his touch sears her cold cheeks. For a split second she feels the irresistible urge to melt into him… but then his fingers graze over her mask. With a gasp, Jules jerks away from him. She’s shaking, so hard she can barely breathe, but he isn’t dissuaded. He follows her, and that only adds anger to the fever pitch inside her.

 

“I would do it a hundred times over,” Alex says, veracity ringing in every single word. “A thousand times. You can be mad at me. You can shout at me. You can tell me you never wanna see me again, but I’m never gonna regret doing this because your life is worth all of that and more. Do you get that?”

 

Jules opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. She just stares at him, her heart pounding so hard it hurts, blood rushing, her limbs starting to tingle with the surge of adrenaline and frustration and anger and  _ understanding _ . Goddamn him, she does understand, and she  _ hates _ it. 

 

She grits her teeth, ready to fight him, and he sees it. 

 

Anger blazes in his eyes and Alex gets in her face with a harsh, “Tell me you get that, Julianna.  _ Tell me _ . I don’t want to hear the usual bullshit, you got it? I need you to-”

 

She  _ snaps _ . 

 

Jules launches herself at him, crashing into him with such ferocity that he barely has time to react, but he does, catching her just as her hands find his face to pull his lips to hers. 

 

The kiss is vicious, the physical embodiment of her anger and exasperation… but underneath it all, there’s a raw possessiveness that takes over both of them.

 

Alex hauls her closer to him, kissing her back with bruising force that’s more like a scream than anything. It’s primal and it calls out to her, unleashing all the emotion she works so hard to keep in check. It’s terrifying, leaving her reeling, but he doesn’t back down. He faces it all, invites it, embraces it, sending her soaring as much as it makes her want to collapse. 

 

It’s too much… but she can’t pull away. 

 

_ She doesn’t want to _ .

 

Fear slices through her and the urge to take her heart back washes over her. With a harsh moan, Jules digs her fingers into his face, forcing him to angle his head. She wants to hurt him, to make him see just how dangerous the fire he’s playing with is, but he just reciprocates by yanking her off her feet and stumbling until he finds a wall, shoving her up against it.

 

Rain pours down on them as the storm rages on, thunderclaps echoing in the distance, lightning jumping from cloud to cloud, the transfer of energy that’s the balancing act of nature.

 

She barely notices it. 

 

He’s everywhere, surrounding her, and she’s falling into him.

 

Jules isn’t sure who pulls away first, or even when the kiss ends. Every inch of her vibrates, her nerves frayed, her mind shot. She stares up at him and he gazes back, both of them suspended in time, in this moment, where all the world is narrowed down to the emotion crackling in the air, the press of his hard body against hers, no more secrets, no more anything but an emotion that has a heady mix of ice and fire filling her veins.

 

He  _ sees _ her, and he wants everything that she is.

 

Tempest. Julianna. Frustration. Affection. Laughter. Anger. Grief. Desire.

 

All of it.

 

Old fear seizes her and she stiffens. A shutter falls over Alex’s face when he feels it, but it’s not to close her off. It’s a thin layer of shock at the intensity of what just happened between them, that he’d let go just as much as she had, that she wasn’t the only one laying everything bare without realizing it.

 

That’s somehow more terrifying than everything else combined.

 

Jules pushes him back and he goes without fighting her. The ghost of his stubble lingers and she rubs her hands against her sides, trying to rid herself of it. It doesn’t go away, though. 

 

She’s worried it never will.

 

“Go home, Alex,” she says. “Go home and don’t come out here like this again.”

 

Pain twists his face, that and rejection, but it’s gone the second she sees it. He stares at her instead, that shutter still in place, a wall that’s never been there before between them.

 

Jules braces for a fight, for that same cloud of stubborness to color his face, for him to push her.

 

But he doesn’t. Instead he looks away, giving her a short nod. But then he changes his mind and before she can guess what he’s about to do, he turns back to her and kisses her cheek.

 

Jules stops breathing, her eyes slipping shut as she instinctively curls into him. Her fingers grip his jacket as she leans into him, savoring the feel of his swollen lips, the bite of his beard, the heat of his breath, the polar opposite of the fire that’d just consumed both of them.

 

And then he’s gone.

 

She watches him go, watches him as he leaves the alley, not looking back once.

 

Jules has no idea how much time passes as she just stares at the mouth of the alley. 

 

The rain continues. Her hair plasters to her, the water slipping under her suit, making the leather tight and hard to move. The longer she stays still, the colder it gets, but she barely registers it.

 

Her lips still tingle from Alex’s kiss.

 

Eventually the rain starts to slow, and that’s when she realizes she’s not alone.

 

“You knew?” Jules asks, the words coming out on a croak. Her father steps into the light at the front of the alley, making his way towards her. When he’s before her, her look hardens into a glare. “You knew he was following me around, trying to tag along with the team?”

 

The Arrow is silent for a heavy moment before admitting, “I told him I’d train him.”

 

“You  _ what _ ?” Incredulity crashes through her and she struggles for words. “You… Why would you do that? Why would you encourage him?”

 

“He didn’t need encouragement,” Oliver replies. “And he wasn’t just tagging along because he wanted to be part of the team. You know that. He needed… He  _ needs _ guidance. He put on that mask on his own. He was going to do this with or without my support. At least with it he stands a better chance of surviving. And so do the rest of us.”

 

“You should’ve told him no!” Jules snaps. “You should have said the team wasn’t going to accept him. And if you weren’t going to do that, you damn well should’ve told  _ me. _ ”

 

Even from behind his mask she can tell he doesn’t buy what she’s saying. He stares at her, patiently,  _ waiting _ , and it only makes her feel more helpless. Some part of her knew that the second Alex mentioned her father where Oliver stood on this, but she’d still expected him to be at least angry. To want to yell, or throw things, or even take the side of logic on this one.

 

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? She doesn’t know  _ what _ is logical right now.

 

Jules takes a shaky breath, looking away, trying to tamp down on the emotion overwhelming her, but it doesn’t do any good.

 

“ _ He _ should have told you,” Oliver says. “I told him to and I think he was working his way up to it. But there’s no way that I should be in the middle of this.”

 

“Dad!” she protests, completely forgetting that they’re still out in the field. They never refer to each other as father and daughter on the streets. It’s a hard and fast rule, but he doesn’t even look surprised about her breaking it this time. And he doesn’t berate her either.

 

“No, Jules. I’m not in this,” he replies. “There was a time you thought you had to break your life into parts and it cost you a lot.” His words are gentle, but they hit like a gut punch anyway. Tears blur her vision, her face crumpling, but he’s not done. “That’s not a mistake I want to see happen again. Ever. And it’s definitely not one I’m going to help you make.”

 

Jules starts, her eyes widening. “You think that’s what I’m doing?”

 

Oliver presses his lips into a thin line, and it’s obvious he isn’t enjoying hurting his daughter. 

 

“I think you found someone you care about who happens to know that you’re Tempest,” he says. “And that I’m The Arrow. He knows what happened three years ago, he knows at least some of what you’ve gone through since then. And he wants to have your back now, in more ways than one. Whatever happens with you two is none of my business.” Oliver stares at her and the weight of his gaze unsettles her. “But I do think it says a lot that even with all of that you still aren’t willing to let one part of your life overlap with another.”

 

His words hang in the air, weighing it down, suffocating her. She instinctively shoves them away, shaking her head, because she does that to save the people she cares about, to protect them, to… 

 

_ To protect herself.  _

 

Jules blinks, a wall of denial falling on her. It leaves her numb as she tries to understand why that thought - something she’s  _ known _ for nearly as long as she’s been Tempest - suddenly feels different. She does do it to protect herself, to protect her identity.

 

And her heart.

 

That realization hits her like a freight train and she slouches against the wall, staring blindly at the ground. It’s true. It was as much to protect her identity and the people she invited into her life as much as always keeping them at a distance. It wasn’t even a conscious thought to keep parts of herself locked away, to use her role as Tempest as the conduit for it. She loved Jackson so much and she knew he loved her, but he didn’t know all of her, because she didn’t let him. 

 

She didn’t think about holding back. She just… did it, didn’t she? No, she  _ does  _ it. 

 

She’s still doing it.

 

The urge to run away from that last thought has her pushing off the wall in denial, but it’s short-lived, and it leaves her standing in the middle of the alley, her shoulders falling under the reality that so much of her life is built on small lies. Only her family really knows her, but even then there’s some distance, despite how much she’s fought to close it.

 

Rain slips down the back of her suit, icy tendrils sliding down her spine.

 

Jules shivers, trying to escape it, but the move only has her seeing the world around her as if she’s just opening her eyes. She blinks, and finds herself staring at her reflection in a puddle. 

 

Tempest with her mask and her midnight-blue suit stares back at her.

 

Two sides of the same coin lock eyes.

 

Except there aren’t two sides. Not really. They’re both  _ her _ , in equal measure.

 

And Alex knows both of them.

 

Wants both of them.

 

“Tempest.” 

 

The voice is far off, too far away for her to register right away.

 

“Jules.”

 

It barely pierces the fog, and she doesn’t look up, not until her father touches her arm.

 

For a split second of blinding fear, she expects to see judgment, a harsh rebuke of the way she’s handled basically everything ever, or maybe sadness that she’s failed life this way. But there’s nothing of the sort. An ally to the core, her father looks back at her with patience and no trace of pity.

 

Relief washes over her, and she almost laughs at her fear. It’s so unfounded, it’s ridiculous, and she  _ knows _ that. These last few years it’s been her parents she’s turned to and trusted above everyone else. They’ve been there every step of the way, guiding her through her grief and self-blame and sorrow, holding her when she needed it, listening when she raged, serving as pillars of strength when she felt like collapsing.

 

It makes sense, she thinks, that they’re the ones to help her beyond it.

 

Oliver squeezes her arm, giving her a small smile. When she finally smiles back, shaky as it is, he nods.

 

“You need to talk to him,” he says. Jules’ heart seizes, but she knows he’s right. “Your choices are your own, Jules, but you do have a choice to make. If you really don’t want him on the team, I’ll back you. No matter what that means. But I do think if you push him away on this, you might be pushing him away for good. You could lose him entirely.”

 

“I can’t lose him,” she whispers, the words out before she can even think.

 

“Yeah,” Oliver agrees, his eyes smiling even as his lips press into a thin line. “I didn’t really think you could.”

 

“I’m, uh… I need to… I’m gonna go.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay,” Jules repeats, so soft it’s barely audible. 

 

Her entire world has been shaken to its foundations, in more ways than one, and when she takes a step to leave, she feels like a foal learning how to use its legs. She’s scared. No,  _ terrified _ , but with each step - each step in the right direction - they stay under her, growing stronger.

 

When she reaches the mouth of the alley, her father stops her with a low, “Hey.”

 

Jules turns to find him smiling again.

 

“I’m proud of you, you know,” he says. Emotion wells in her chest and she presses her lips together to keep it at bay. “You’ve been through more than anyone should have to endure. But no matter what you think, you’ve never let it define you. You have  _ fought  _ for the kind of life you deserve and you’ve let us help you along the way. Your work, your mission with me. You relationships with your brothers and sister. Every one of those things is a victory because you refused to take the easy route. You impress me so much, Jules. I just thought you should know that.”

 

Her throat grows thick with more tears, her eyes watering, her heart  _ soaring _ . He’s always seen more than she’s given him credit for, and this is no different. 

 

And she  _ believes _ him. 

 

That alone has her damn tears threatening to fall.

 

Jules wants to hug him, but she doesn’t think she’ll let go for a long while, and she has somewhere to be. She doesn’t trust her voice in the least, so instead she bites her lip, giving him a small smile and a nod that he returns before she leaves the alley.

 

She spends the trip back to Arrow Headquarters lost in her thoughts.

 

Who would she be if Jackson hadn’t died? What would her life be like if they hadn’t gotten caught up in some crazy mob heist and been wholly unaware of it? She’d have married him by now. She knows that. And she would’ve been happy with him.

 

But what about the rest of it? The rest of  _ her _ ? And what about the things her dad is proud of that she has grown to cherish? How different would things be if she’d spent the last few years defining those lines separating her life more instead of letting them start to break down like she has been?

 

She has no idea.

 

It was Jackson’s death that spurred her career change. Painting gave her a way to express herself how she wants instead of fulfilling a director’s vision. It’s been a healthy and successful outlook for her, more so than dancing ever would have been. And she never would have donned a mask had Jackson lived. There was never any desire for that until she felt the need to bring his killer to justice. But wearing that mask has given her a new depth to her identity and a place on a team with her family.

 

And her family…

 

That’s maybe the biggest question of all.

 

Before losing Jackson she had done everything she could to keep her family at arm’s length. Of all her relatives, she’d only really been close with Will. But in the aftermath of her loss, she’d developed connections with all of them. Most of all her parents. Their unwavering support, their consistent commitment to loving her and helping her through her pain had grown a newfound level of trust and affection between them that might never have happened otherwise.

 

She would have done  _ anything  _ to save Jackson. She loved him then and she loves him now. But a part of her wonders, for the first time, if maybe some parts of her life aren’t better on account of everything she went through because she lost him.

 

It’s a lot to take in. 

 

Her mind races with the possibilities, with the what-if’s, with questions she can’t hope to answer and ones she doesn’t want to. But her heart is calm, as calm as it has been all night. 

 

She strips out of her suit when she gets to the lair, hanging it up and taking a second to look at it. For the first time, she doesn’t feel like she’s shedding a skin in order to replace it with another. 

 

It’s part of her, part of who she is. 

 

Jules takes her time cleaning up, showering, drying her hair, getting dressed. She’s putting on a touch of makeup when she pauses and stares at herself in the mirror. 

 

She likes what she sees there. She likes  _ who _ she sees there. It’s not the woman that Jackson knew. In some ways, that girl died with him. But this woman she who’s taken her place… she thinks he’d like her, too. 

 

And so does she. 

 

No one else is in the lair with her - her mom is running the comms from the brownstone to be near Nate - so Jules leaves without having to talk to anyone. And she’s grateful for that.

 

There’s only one person she wants to talk to right now, one place she wants to be.

 

_ Needs _ to be.

 

The storm is gone by the time she heads out, leaving the streets glistening with evidence of the torrential rains. Nothing but clear skies blanket the city, though, the stars shining down like a portent of things to come.

 

Before she knows it, she’s at his door, her hand up to knock. But, before she can, the door swings open and she finds Alex staring back at her. He barely moves. He holds his breath, his eyes anxious and uncertainty lining his face.

 

“Hi,” Jules breathes, letting her hand fall to the side.

 

“Hi,” he croaks. He pauses, his gaze roving over her face like he thought… “I didn’t think you’d come.”

 

“I had to,” she replies. “I couldn’t leave it like that.”

 

Alex sighs, but he doesn’t relax, not entirely. “Okay,” he says with a small nod. “Good.” He steps back, opening the door for her. “You comin’ in?”

 

It’s tentative. There’s no expectation in his voice, in the way he looks at her. There is hope, but it’s dulled, tempered by what happened earlier, by what they’ve shared. Or rather, what they haven’t yet shared.

 

If there was ever a pivotal moment for them, it’s this one right here.

 

“Yeah,” Jules says. 

 

The smile that touches his face has her reaching for him. Her hand slides down his arm as she steps in. When her fingers reach his hand, he grabs hold and doesn’t let go.

 

“I don’t have it in me to sit at home knowing you’re out there,” Alex says, shutting the door. He squeezes her fingers before lacing them with his. He rubs his thumb up and down the side of her hand, his nerves evident. “I tried, but the thought of you chasin’ down mobsters and something happening when I could’ve helped… I can’t do it.”

 

“I know.”

 

Alex stares at her, searching her eyes. He finds what he’s looking for because he relaxes a tiny bit more, nodding. And then he stiffens again. “You gonna tell me you need space?” 

 

The question lingers. His eyes dart down to their clasped hands before finding hers again and if Jules didn’t know better, she’d say he looked terrified. 

 

When did this happen, she wonders, when did he give her so much control over him? When did she start to mean so much? Instead of making her want to run, she finds herself holding him tighter, in reassurance.

 

The better question, she supposes, is when did he start meaning so much to her?

 

She doesn’t have an answer to that either.

 

“No,” she replies, touching his cheek with her free hand. “I’m not.”

 

The breath of relief he lets out changes his entire demeanor. It blows her away how much she affects him. Is it the same for him? The tension in him loosens and he smiles, this one reaching his eyes, and her heart skips more than a couple beats at the sight.

 

“It’s not that I think you can’t take care of yourself,” he promises. “I know you can. You’re better at it than me. You’re a stronger fighter, more battle-ready.”

 

“It’s just practice,” Jules says. “You’ll be as good as me eventually. I’ll help you get there.”

 

Alex stares at her, stunned. “What?” he asks, his voice breaking.

 

“I think maybe it’s time I stopped trying to keep parts of my life separate,” she replies, leaning towards him. “And also that maybe you have a place in all of it.”

 

Disbelief shades his features as he searches her face, looking for confirmation of her words. She knows she’s given him more than enough reason to doubt her, but that doesn’t stop a tangle of nerves from twisting in her stomach. When silence stretches on longer than she’s comfortable with, Jules opens her mouth to reassure him…

 

But then Alex cups her face with his free hand and he swoops down, pressing his lips to hers in a gentle kiss that steals her breath away. It’s soft, and sweet, and perfect. She could melt into this, could lose herself completely, and she wouldn’t regret it for a single second.

 

“Oh…” she breathes against his lips, her hand slipping to the back of his neck, to hold him closer. Or maybe it’s more to help keep her standing, because the next kiss is even better, his tongue darting out to hers with a tenderness that makes her knees feel like they’ll give out. He pours his feelings into every kiss, every taste, every touch, leaving her feeling so cherished. As the kisses grow longer, deeper, his restrained passion makes her heart flutter and her skin tingle with anticipation of his touch, knowing what he’s capable of.

 

What  _ they’re _ capable of together.

 

It isn’t until her back hits the wall that she realizes he’s been moving them, walking her slowly toward the space next to his front door.

 

“That’s all I want,” Alex says, his voice raw, his lips brushing against hers. He pulls back to look at her, the back of his fingers stroking her cheek. “To be part of every bit of your life. I don’t wanna be closed out.”

 

“Okay,” Jules replies breathlessly. “Okay. So let’s do that.”

 

“Yeah?” he asks. He swallows heavily, looking at her like he’s desperate to believe her. “Really?”

 

“Really,” she agrees. An anxious little burst of joy explodes in her chest. “I don’t know what this is yet, but I want to find out. I don’t want to look back one day and think… maybe. You know?”

 

“I know,” he says. “I know, cariño.”

 

“Will you come to the exhibit opening with me?” Jules asks, grabbing onto his shirt collar, holding on tightly to steady herself as she looks up at him. 

 

His lips tick up in a little hopeful smile. “You askin’ me to be your date?” 

 

“Yeah,” she replies, a smile spreading across her lips, lighting up her entire face. “Yeah, I’m asking you to be my date.”

 

“Julianna, there is nothing I want more than that,” Alex says, leaning down to touch his forehead to hers, moving his hands to cradle her face. “I’m always happy to be at your side.”

 

“Good,” she whispers, nuzzling his nose with hers. “Because I want you with me and I’m tired of pretending I don’t.”

 

“Good,” he murmurs. “Stop pretending.”

 

The kiss that follows sears right into the depths of her soul. It’s as intense as anything she’s ever felt, because she stops fighting. She lets him in, lets go, and it’s the most freeing thing she’s ever felt. 

 

She holds on to him, lives in the moment, just letting herself feel.

 

And,  _ oh, _ there is so much to feel.

 

He presses his thigh between hers, pinning her to the wall. His lips are warm and soft against hers, coaxing her to open for him as his hands trail down her body. It’s a damn assault on her senses, her skin tingling where his hands drift, his thigh driving up between her legs, his mouth working against hers, so much so that she gasps. Alex takes the opening, slipping his tongue barely inside her mouth, running it over the underside of her upper lip. God, the way he touches her, so gently... But there’s so much simmering under the surface, waiting to explode. Her sex clenches, heat coiling in her core, a shiver ripping its way down her spine, making her hardening nipples ache. 

 

Jules moans, clinging to his shoulders, and Alex presses her further into the wall.

 

“I got you, Chula,” he promises, his words a silky caress. “I ain’t gonna let you fall.”

 

Jules breathes his name, and in that he hears her trust, her belief that he won’t let her go, that he’ll be there. She trusts him to keep her safe, even with the pieced-together bits of her fragile heart. What a feeling that is, what a high to be so secure, so  _ confident _ in this fledgling relationship they’ve formed.

 

“Look at me, Julianna,” he whispers and she pulls back, her eyes finding his. 

 

The air between them crackles with electricity, with need, with emotion. It’s never been like this, she thinks, never been this intense and vulnerable. She’s almost a little impressed with herself that she fought it for so long.

 

His gaze nails her in place as he braces her body atop his thigh and reaches down to flick open the button of her jeans. Their eyes stay locked as he tugs her pants and underwear out of the way before wrapping an arm around her waist and tilting her back against the wall, urging her to slide further down his thigh, opening her to him. The sensation of their jeans rubbing together with his fingers slipping inside her panties has her moaning, her head rolling back.

 

“You are so beautiful,” Alex rasps. Jules watches his eyes drift down her body, all the way down to where his hand is buried between her thighs. But it’s like he can’t stay away from her gaze for too long, like he needs it as much as she needs to see him, and he looks back up. The instant their eyes connect, Alex traces a finger over her sex. “Thought I wouldn’t get to see you like this again. I thought you were gonna end things and that’d be it.”

 

“No,” she replies, wrapping one leg around the back of his thigh and opening herself up more for his hand. Both of them moan as his finger slides through her wetness. “Couldn’t. I’d miss this. I’d miss you.”

 

“I’d miss you, too, mi pequeña tormenta,” he assures her as he glides a finger across her clit. She cries out, but doesn’t shut her eyes or look away. She can’t. “So much,” he continues, “I’d miss you so much. This and holding you and talking to you and spending time together. All of it. All of you.”

 

Biting her lip, Jules nods, a needy whine falling out when he presses a little harder on exactly the right spot. She doesn’t let go of her lip, holding on to it and him for dear life as he rubs her. She doesn’t realize her eyes have fluttered shut until he presses a soft kiss to her lips.

 

“Keep your eyes on me, okay?” he murmurs against her lips, kissing until she lets go of her lip. “I wanna feel this moment with you.”

 

She knows exactly what he means. This isn’t about an orgasm. It’s not even about sex. It’s about a connection they’re forging on a rudimentary level. It’s formative and overwhelming and she wants to experience every bit of it with him.

 

Jules nods, her gaze finding his. It’s a heady thing to see his pupils blown wide, his lids heavy, to know he’s just as swept up in this as she is.

 

“There’s my girl,” he whispers.

 

“Yes,” she moans out, possibly in agreement or maybe at being called his girl. She is. She’s his. And he’s hers. And it’s simply  _ right. _

 

“Love seeing you like this,” he tells her as her hips move in counterpoint to his fingers. There’s nothing at all holding her up but him. “You’re goddamned beautiful, Julianna. Everything about you. But like this… You take my breath away.”

 

“A little harder?” she asks, desperate for more. 

 

“Yeah,” he agrees, rubbing more firmly. 

 

“ _ Oh _ ,” Jules gasps, gulping back air and fighting to keep her eyes open as sensation spreads through her, making her hyper-aware of everything. She clings harder to him, riding his hand, letting out a sobbing noise. 

 

“I got you,” he tells her again. “I got you. Just let go, chica.”

 

She’s close, so very close. Her nipples tighten painfully with anticipation, all of her senses coming alive. But none more than her heart. It’s pounding at a furious rate, wild and frenzied but leaving her so very connected, so intensely  _ one _ with him. In spite of the fact that this is just his finger on her body and they’ve done this before, it’s different. And they both know it. 

 

“Alex,” she cries as the fast coiling sense of impending release gathers inside her. “Alex, Alex,  _ Alex _ .”

 

“Come on, baby,” he urges. “I got you.”

 

She comes with a shout of his name that echoes through his house, the tile floors amplifying the noise. Her eyes flutter but they don’t shut, even at her peak. She watches him watching her as she orgasms and it might be the most terrifyingly intimate moment of her life, but all the fear that should come with it is absent. This is Alex. Alex who she trusts implicitly, who stands toe-to-toe against her and side-by-side with her in turn. 

 

The only thing she feels is utter bliss. 

 

It takes every last ounce of her energy. When she’s through, Jules sags against the wall, sliding down it, her grip loosening on him. He keeps her upright, though, bolsters her, lifting her up so that her legs wrap around his waist. He hugs her close, pressing his face into her neck, breathing her in.

 

“Thank you,” he says before kissing her.

 

She doesn’t have to ask why. She knows. The connection she’s finally allowed them to have is everything he’s wanted all along, and she’s not only given into it, but she’s swept away by it.

 

Jules is only dimly aware as he carries her to his bedroom, but she welcomes the feel of his cool sheets when he lowers her to the mattress. When he tugs her shoes and jeans off, she huffs out a laugh, which has his fingers dancing over her skin, tickling her with soft touches until she’s tugging him down with her. 

 

The rest of the night is filled with gentle touches and reverent kisses, of whispered words and quiet laughter. Things get heated a few more times, but it never goes farther than that. Sex lingers in the background, but tonight is about more. It’s about him, and her, and  _ them _ . While they don’t come together that night, she does fall asleep in his arms again, feeling special and wanted and completely at peace. 

 

Given that, she wouldn’t change a thing.

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note - Trigger warning for a panic attack in this chapter. 
> 
> So, Bre is currently visiting me and we've been plotting in detail for Providence (the next story... the Ameliam story) as well as our venture into original works that we plan to self-publish. We've been taking asks on my tumblr (user name so-caffeinated) and answering them in video form (also on tumblr). We'll do at least one more video while she's here, so if you have questions for us about anything having to do with the FiCoN verse, writing plans, our original works or... basically whatever, hop on over and drop us an ask!

 

She wakes with the warmth of Alex’s chest beneath her cheek.

 

Light creeps through the room, a slip of sunshine better than any alarm clock. Morning is well underway, but Jules makes no move to leave the comfort of his arms. Instead she curls further into his embrace, tightening her leg where it’s slung over his thighs. For the first time in a long time, she’s exactly where she wants to be.

 

Breathing out a soft, contented sigh, she burrows closer and strokes his chest idly. She doesn’t really aim to wake him up, but the kiss pressed into her hair proves she does anyhow.

 

“Morning,” he rumbles.

 

She doesn’t lift her head, but she does crane it upward so she can meet his eyes. “Hey,” she greets with a smile.

 

Alex brushes some hair from her cheek, looking a little amazed. “You’re still here.”

 

“I said I would be, didn’t I?” she asks.

 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I just… I dunno. I guess I’m still waiting for you to have second thoughts.”

 

Jules furrows her brow, staring at him for a beat, wanting to ask him why in the hell she would have second thoughts. But the tentative hope on his face is the same from last night. She hasn’t exactly been consistent in this with him, has she?

 

“This is _something_ , Alex,” she says, propping herself up on her elbow to see him clearer. “I don’t know what yet, but I do know it’s worth giving a shot. I like you. I like _this_. I’m not going to have second thoughts about that.”

 

He smiles. “Good,” Alex replies, smoothing her hair back where it’d fallen over her eye. He still looks nervous, though, and she frowns. “I like you, too,” he adds. “And I like this. A lot. It’s been a while since I had someone in my life that I liked enough to worry about losing, I guess. I’d forgotten what it’s like.”

 

“Ah,” Jules says with a grin. “I see.” She sits up and straddles his waist, looking down at him. She pokes his chest for emphasis as she says, “You, Alejandro, are a sap. That’s what this is.”

 

“A sap, huh?” Alex repeats, his playful grin matching hers, his hands settling on her thighs.

 

“ _Total_ sap,” she agrees. “You come off like this big, strong, reserved guy, but underneath it you’re all mush.”

 

“I ain’t never been strong with you, Julianna,” he tells her, smoothing his hands down her legs, his thumbs skating over her knees. “Not once. You had me weak from the start.”

 

“That’s funny,” Jules replies, leaning over him, letting her hair fall around them like a curtain. “Because you make me strong.”

 

“You were strong to begin with,” Alex says, moving one hand to her face. His fingers brush over her brow and down to her cheek as he gazes at her with so much warmth her stomach swoops. “You just needed to be reminded of that.”

 

God, how is he even real?

 

Jules kisses him, soft and hungry and heartfelt. They set a leisurely pace. It’s gentle, unhurried, both of them simply savoring the experience for what it is. He melts beneath her, obviously craving her touch. It’s like a drug, knowing that. It would be more than enough to get her hooked on him if she wasn’t already.

 

“I wanna be with you,” she breathes out when they part. He groans at her words and wraps his arms around her, burying one hand in her hair, the other resting against her lower back. She arches her back, pressing herself into him, making his grip on her tighten when she rubs right against his growing hardness. “But you’re gonna make us wait until after that date, aren’t you?”

 

She knows it’s true even before she asks, but she still has to try.

 

More than her body aches to be with him, and she has no doubt at all that their need is mutual. She feels the physical evidence of his desire for her and, emotionally, his eyes speak volumes.

 

Despite knowing what he’s going to say, she still holds out hope…  

 

“Four days, baby,” he tells her. Jules groans. “Four days ‘til your exhibit, yeah? ‘Til our first date? We’ve waited this long. Let’s wait a little longer. Make it special.”

 

“Don’t quote me on this,” she says with a little smile, “but I’m pretty sure we could make it special right now.”

 

She sees him wavering, but then he gives her a pointed look with a low, “Julianna…” and she knows she’s lost.

 

“ _Fine_.” She props herself up on his chest with a sigh. “If you need us to wait to have sex as some kind of assurance I won’t back out on our date, we can do that.”

 

“That’s not it,” Alex says. His cheeks are a little pink, though, so it’s at least a _little_ bit that. “I just don’t wanna hide whatever we are. That’s no way to start something. I wanna be your man. And I want everyone to know it.”

 

Jules sits up fully. “You mean you want _Will_ to know it.”

 

“He’s my best friend,” Alex reminds her, his hands settling on her thighs. “Has been for a lot of years now. And we put our lives in each other’s hands every time we go to work. I gotta tell him.”

 

“Okay,” Jules replies. “I get that. He sort of knows there’s someone I’ve got feelings for anyhow.”

 

Alex’s eyebrows shoot up. “Feelings, huh?” he asks with a self-satisfied smirk. “What kinda feelings we talking about here?”

 

“The warm and fuzzy kind,” she tells him, pushing off his chest and sitting cross-legged next to him. “Don’t get a big head over it.”

 

“Little chance of that.” Alex sits up. “I’m gonna celebrate my victories where I get them. And you admitting to feelings, mi pequeña tormenta… That’s a hell of a win.”

 

“What’s that mean?” she asks. “You’ve called me that a few times now. Little torment or something?”

 

He chuckles and brushes her hair behind her ear. “My little storm,” he informs her. “‘Cause you’re a force of nature all on your own, chica. Everything else is at your mercy.”

 

“Hmm,” she muses. “I like the sentiment. Not sure how I feel about the ‘little’ part, though.”

 

Alex grins. “Compared to me? Baby, you’re tiny.”

 

Jules huffs. “I think I’m offended.”

 

“Come on, mi tormenta,” he says, easing himself off the bed and offering her a hand. “You can be offended over breakfast.”

 

“Ooh, huevos rancheros?” she asks, taking his hand. He pulls her off the bed and she wraps her arms around him. “I’m still kicking myself for not inhaling them last time.”

 

“Glad you liked it, even if you were ready to throw it at my head as you yelled at me.”

 

“I might’ve overreacted,” she admits, and he snorts. “Possibly. Now that I’ve apologized, can there be huevos rancheros?”

 

Alex laughs and cups her face, leaning close. His nose brushes against hers as he whispers, “There wasn’t a ‘sorry’ in there. As apologies go, that one was lacking something.”

 

Jules rolls her eyes. “Fine,” she groans. “I’m sorry for biting your head off. It wasn’t fair. Consider this my apology. _Now_ can there be huevos rancheros?”

 

“See?” he asks, tugging her along as he turns to head to the kitchen. “Was that so hard?”

 

“Alex,” she says, giving him the grimmest look she can muster. Which isn’t very grim.

 

He chuckles. “Fine,” Alex agrees. “Apology accepted. And there can be huevos rancheros. Or… you could let me surprise you with something I think you’ll like even better.”

 

“What’s that?” she asks.

 

“Ever had chilaquiles?”

 

She hasn’t, but they very quickly become one of her favorite foods, and not just because of the joy that permeates the air. She perches herself on the counter next to his stove while he cooks, sneaking tastes of salsa when she think she isn’t looking. She’s not as covert as she thinks, though, because he catches her with a faux-chastising, “Julianna!” to which she just widens her eyes innocently. And every single time the moment dissolves into him trying to be mad, but failing, and her laughing, and him kissing her senseless. It’s distracting enough that he almost overcooks their breakfast, but in the end it turns out perfect.

 

Just like the rest of the morning.

 

Part of her - a big part - wants to hang around all day and spend time with him doing anything at all. But life doesn’t pause when you really want it to - she’s got to go pick up Bokeh and needs to check in with her mom about the lead they’d gotten last night. And he needs to figure out exactly what he’s gonna say to Will.

 

It’s right around noon when she finally leaves with a smile on her face and a bounce in her step.

 

Everyone notices. Martin teases her something fierce when she picks up Bokeh, but it does nothing to mess with her mood. She doesn’t stick around her gallery long, instead heading off to the brownstone with her dog in tow. If she gushes a little bit to her mother about how great Alex is and how he cooks so well before asking about any new clues based off of last night’s lead…

 

Well, no one could blame her, right?

 

“You know...” her mom says, turning away from the dual screens she’d somehow been managing in tandem. How she doesn’t get confused re-allocating assets for QI and digging through offshore bank accounts at the same time, Jules has no idea. “This is the first time in three years I’ve seen you actually _happy_ while talking about solving Jackson’s murder. Not that you shouldn’t be! I’m not saying that. I’m just saying it’s different. Noteworthy, even. Some might even call it progress.”

 

“Relax, mom,” Jules says, wrapping an arm around Felicity’s shoulders. “I get what you mean. And maybe it is. Progress, I mean. I just finally feel like I might be able to get closure for Jackson and let myself live my life without this cloud of regret and guilt constantly hanging over me. I can’t change what happened. And I’m always going to love him. But I think maybe I need to start letting myself cherish the memory of our time together instead of clinging to it.”

 

Her mom smiles and bites her lower lip as she cups Jules’ face.

 

“Julie-bug,” she says, “that might just be the best outlook you’ve ever had. And I’m so very proud of you.”

 

“I’m kinda proud of me, too,” Jules agrees with a happy grin. “Now… what’ve we got?”

 

The long and the short of it is that they’ve got _something_ , but they’re not sure what yet. Not surprising, as that’s kind of the route that all of this has gone for years. But her mom has definitely found several offshore accounts she’s linked back to the Bertinellis and they were all gutted in unison the day after Helena died. Domino’s boy’s story checks out. And now, it’s a matter of following a very long chain of shell corporations and false names to track down where the money ultimately wound up. They’ll get there, Jules knows that. And for once, the pressure of being there _now_ isn’t overwhelming.

 

“Okay,” Jules says, mulling over the information her mother has passed on. “I have some other stuff I should do. Text me if something pops?”

 

She reaches for her phone as she says it, only to find it’s not in her pocket.

 

“Oh, shit,” Jules breathes, racing through her thoughts to try and remember the last place she saw her phone.

 

Alex’s nightstand. That’s where she last saw it. And that’s where it mostly likely still is.

 

“Mom, can I leave Bokeh here for a bit?” she asks. “She’s kinda sleepy after her puppy party last night.”

 

“Puppy party?” her mother asks, blinking at her before eyeing the napping dog in the corner. “Nevermind. I don’t even have to ask. Sure, she can keep me company. She’s not bothering anything.”

 

“Thank you.” Jules kisses her mom on the cheek. The look of pleased surprise on her mom’s face is kind of great. “I’ll be back soon.”

 

“No rush,” her mom tells her, waving as she goes.

 

It’s weird being without her phone and Jules finds herself distracted as she drives back to Alex’s place. Her morning was amazing, but is she really so lost in a fog of feelings that she’d forgotten her phone? Apparently so.

 

That’s a hell of a realization.

 

She’s still shaking her head at herself when she parks in his driveway and heads up the walk to his front door. It takes a second for him to answer and he clearly looks surprised to see her at his doorstep, but her heart skips a beat and her stomach swoops and she can’t help pushing up onto her toes to kiss him soundly. Has it only been a couple of hours since she last saw him? It feels like more.

 

“Mmm, how did I miss that so much already?” she asks against his lips. Her eyes are still shut as she savors the feel of his mouth against hers. “I think I left my phone on your nightstand, so I’m just back to grab-”

 

“Julianna,” he interrupts.

 

She opens her eyes to find him pale-faced and anxious as hell. More than the night before. More when than she’d unmasked him. It doesn’t make sense until she hears a soft, “Holy shit…” from inside his house.

 

 _Javi_.

 

Her stomach drops for an entirely different reason and it disappears completely when she turns to find he’s not alone.

 

Will’s there.

 

“Oh…” Jules breathes out, settling back down on her heels. She stares at her brother, at the way he’s staring at her, his face blank, his jaw hanging open. She doesn’t let go of Alex, though, and he doesn’t let go of her. She takes strength from that. Swallowing hard, she looks up at him and says, “So, I’m guessing you hadn’t told him anything yet, huh?”

 

The look on her brother’s face says everything and the tension in the room mounts to an almost impossible degree. He’s so livid that he’s beyond words and Jules finds herself actually shrinking back into Alex.

 

“Will,” Alex starts, tightening his hold on her. “Man…”

 

“Tell me you’re fucking kidding me right now,” Will snaps, his voice barely recognizable. “ _Tell me_ this is just a joke.”

 

“I was gonna tell you about us,” Alex says, sounding as nervous as Jules feels as he turns to his best friend, never letting her go. He waves his hand, as if that will make the words come easier, but they don’t. His hand stops mid-motion before it just drops.

 

“We,” Jules says quietly. “ _We_ were gonna tell you.”

 

“Jules, I swear to _God_.” Will looks ready to burst as he holds a hand up to stop her. “You and I can talk about this later. Go home.”

 

“Excuse me?” she asks, the words low, but the righteous fire that suddenly roars through her makes them louder. “Are you telling me to leave so that the _men_ can sit around and discuss my love life?”

 

“This isn’t about that, Jules,” Will snaps, his voice rising. “You’re young. You’re still hurting from Jackson’s death. And my _best friend_ decided to take advantage of that.”

 

“The hell I did,” Alex growls.

 

Javi slowly raises his hands with a soft, “How’s about we all take a deep breath, huh?” as he steps closer to the middle.

 

No one pays any attention to him.

 

“So, because I lost someone three years ago I’m suddenly not able to make my own choices anymore?” Jules demands. “Fuck you, Will. I’m not a child.”

 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Will retorts, stalking up to her. “Because you’re sure as hell acting like one right now.”

 

Jules doesn’t back down, moving to meet him, even as Alex’s grip tightens on her. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” she demands.

 

“You didn’t learn what a bad idea it was to keep secrets when Jackson died?” Will asks.

 

Each word is a shard of glass slicing through her and she doesn’t even register her hand’s moving until stinging pain erupts across her palm, leaving Will’s cheek red with her handprint.

 

The silence that follows is louder than the slap.

 

Never in her life has she hit him, not outside of sparring practice. She’s never struck anyone in her family intentionally. But then she’s also never been this angry at one of her loved ones either. Part of her regrets it immediately. This is Will. _Her_ Will. Her favorite person in the _world_ , who she’s always been able to turn to. But the rest of her is two steps past livid in a way that she’s never felt before.

 

“I knew you’d be like this,” Jules hisses. “I _knew_ you’d be caveman levels of over-protective. I knew you’d ruin this for me.”

 

Will touches his cheek, staring at her like he isn’t sure who she is right now. He finally falls back a step, but the fury lighting his eyes doesn’t fade in the least. If anything he glares harder, like the force of it alone will make her see. It’s infuriating and she follows him.

 

“You are not my father, Will,” she bites out. “I have a dad. And you know what? He’s a hell of a lot more fair about my love life than you are.”

 

“Like he even knows about this,” Will scoffs, finally finding his voice.

 

Jules’ hand throbs as she curls it into a fist. “He actually does,” she informs him with a piercing glare. “And _he_ said whatever was between me and Alex is none of his business, because it _isn’t_ any of his business. And it’s none of yours either!”

 

“He’s my best friend,” Will snaps, “and you’re my sister.”

 

She blinks. “Yeah,” Jules says. “Yeah, he is your best friend and I _am_ your sister. You’d think you’d be happy that we’re together when you think about it that way, instead of being a complete asshole about it.”

 

Hurt flashes through his eyes, but she’s too far in to care.

 

“He needs time, Julianna,” Alex says in a voice meant for her ears only as he rubs her back discreetly, trying to soothe her. It’s only under his touch that she realizes how much anger is vibrating through her. “This was kinda the worst way he could’ve found out.”

 

“I don’t need _time_ ,” Will grits out, eyes snapping to Alex. “What I need is a best friend who doesn’t sneak around with my sister behind my back.”

 

“Hey,” Alex says, his voice hardening, his hand freezing against her back. “It ain’t like that, Vato.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Will challenges. “My baby sister didn’t leave her phone _next to your bed_?”

 

“God, Will, _Bethany_ is your baby sister,” Jules yells. “I’m in my fucking mid-twenties.”

 

He doesn’t even acknowledge her, too honed in on Alex.

 

“You know what? Yeah. She did,” Alex acknowledges, his tone sharp as a razor. “And if you’ve got a problem with that, I think I need to know why. Am I not good enough for her or what?” The question lingers in the air as Will doesn’t answer. Jules feels Alex’s entire body coiling at her side, aggravation and frustration coming off him in waves as Will doesn’t say a single word. “Come on, man, you’re gonna have to tell me, because I’m done pretending like this is something I’m supposed to be ashamed of. I’m _not_.”

 

Despite the situation and the way both men look ready to throw punches, Jules’ heart soars at his words. She doesn’t need a man to fight in her stead, but having a man she cares about stand beside her? It means more than she could have ever imagined.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Will asks. “You want me to… what? Be happy that my best friend is fucking around with my sister?”

 

The glare Alex shoots him is murderous as he growls, “I ain’t fucking around with her.”

 

“Then what?” Will challenges. “What the hell is this?”

 

“I’m in goddamned love with her, you idiot!”

 

The floor falls out from under her.

 

His words hang heavily in the air, untouched, a living thing all their own as Will blinks at his best friend, clearly stunned. Alex is even more surprised and it’s obvious he hadn’t meant to say that much. It occurs to him a short second later because he pales, his eyes widening with a new panic as they dart to Jules.

 

It’s sort of amazing how she’s aware of any of that since her lungs stopped working.

 

“I am,” Alex says hoarsely. Jules doesn’t realize she’s moving until her back hits the door. His panic morphs into fear as he continues, the words coming out in a rush. “Just being around you makes my life better, Julianna. All I want is to hold on to you and laugh with you and talk over coffee and stand at your side while you kick someone’s ass or blow people away with what you can do with some paint and a canvas. I love you so much that sometimes I just sit up and watch you sleep next to me because I can’t believe you’re here and that this is real. Because it is. It’s so real. All I want is to be with you. Screw the rest of it.” He stares at her, willing her to hear him - to _feel_ him - and the room starts spinning. Alex takes a tentative step towards her. “I know you’re scared, baby. I know that. And I get why. But this ain’t like anything I ever felt before and everything I’ve got in me tells me it’s worth it. You’re worth it.”

 

She can’t breathe.

 

She can’t _breathe_.

 

Her head swims and she grips the door frame with numbed fingers to try and keep herself upright. The whole room closes in on her, the air thickening, turning syrupy, too dense to inhale.

 

_She can’t breathe._

 

Terror claws at her chest and it _hurts,_ her entire rib cage crushing her lungs. Her heartbeat races at a furious pace, going faster and faster. It won’t slow down, it only goes faster, like it’s going to burst right there in her chest. She gasps for air, but her throat closes, and black spots dance over her vision.

 

God, she’s gonna die right there in Alex’s family room because air no longer works and her heart has decided to go into overdrive.

 

“I know this is bad timing,” Alex says, trying for calm, looking for a little understanding maybe, but she doesn’t have any of that, because his words don’t help _anything_. “You ain’t ready to hear this yet, and I get that. I get that.”

 

Will takes a step towards her with a faraway, “Jules, are you okay?”

 

All it does it make her feel even more crowded and she wants to scream at him that _no_ , she’s not okay. She needs everyone to just _stop_ , stop talking, stop moving, stop everything, because she’s pretty sure she’s dying right now and she doesn’t even know why. Her brain tells her to suck in air, to give her body oxygen, but when she tries, her chest just grows tighter, her muscles tightening up until they’re hard as rock, leaving her feeling like she’s going to break into a million pieces any second.

 

“Jules?” Alex asks, stepping closer, worry warping his voice.

 

“She’s having a panic attack. Move,” Javi orders, pushing past Will and Alex. He grabs both her hands and tugs her out to the front stoop, his voice softening as he says, “I got you, Legs.” He eases her down until she’s sitting on the concrete. He gently urges her back until she hits the wall, not really giving her much of a choice, which is oddly relieving. “There we go.”

 

She tries to suck in another breath and it almost works, but not quite, and the reality that she can’t make her own body work sends her reeling all over again.

 

“Eyes on me, okay?” Javi continues calmly, touching her cheeks. “We got this. I’m gonna help you through it, okay?”

 

He’s so confident and uncharacteristically serious, and she latches onto it, needing someone who’s in control, because she’s so not. Only later will she realize that this is Javi when he’s at work, and it will give her a whole new appreciation for the man because God, she’s _terrified_. Her body doesn’t feel like it’s hers anymore, like one wrong breeze will scatter her and nothing will be left.

 

“Promise, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you,” Javi vows. “This is a real thing, okay? I see it a lot. You’re not alone and I know how to help you. You ever had a panic attack before?”

 

His voice is so far away, the words barely piercing through the white noise flooding her head, echoing across a canyon she can’t see but she can feel. Oh, she can feel it and it’s huge and she can’t do anything about it.

 

“C’mon, Legs, listen to my voice,” Javi says. “I’m gonna take your hand now. Okay?”

 

She sees his lips moving, but she can’t hear him, no matter how hard she tries to focus. Tears blur her vision, but Javi keeps repeating the question until she realizes what he’s saying.

 

Jules nods rapidly and a small, calm smile covers Javi’s face. He still moves slowly, making sure she sees his every move, until he’s gripping her fingers in his. It’s soft at first, and he slowly increases the pressure just enough to pull her hand up. He presses her palm to his chest, his lips still moving as he covers her hand with his.

 

His chest rises and falls with deep, even breaths, and his gaze never wavers from hers.

 

Words are still coming out of him, and she can’t hear them, but she doesn’t need to. Because she sees him.

 

And she can _feel_.

 

His very normal heart rate beats beneath her fingers and her hand moves with his slow inhales and exhales. Tremors wrack her body, making her fingers quake under his. A cold sweat breaks out across her entire body, making her shiver, which only leads to another, and another, until she’s shaking uncontrollably. She tries to curl in on herself, but Javi doesn’t let her. When her head dips, his fingers find her chin, forcing her to keep looking him in the eye.

 

She isn’t sure how long it goes on. The seconds drag on for an exhausting eternity, each one taking longer than the last, until she’s positive that there’s been nothing but this overwhelming panic…

 

But it finally starts to abate, Javi’s steady presence and support bringing her back.

 

The shaking eases off, her chest slowly unwinds, and when she tries to take a breath her body doesn’t fight her. Oxygen floods her system, and she coughs. Her throat is raw, her muscles taut, still coiled tight. But she can breathe, imitating Javi’s breaths, and that is…

 

It’s amazing.

 

By the time she can hear again and feels strong enough to breathe on her own, Jules feels like she’s been beaten within an inch of her life. Weariness weighs her down, her blood turning to lead, her muscles finally releasing as if she’s just gotten through a brutal fight that pushed her to the limit. Every inch of her is worn down and she’s _freezing_ , remnant tremors striking when she least expects them.

 

She pulls her hand away from Javi with what she hopes is a grateful smile.

 

Until it hits her what just happened.

 

Jules screws her eyes shut, shame flooding her. She can _feel_ Will and Alex’s eyes on her and she really wishes the earth would just open up and swallow her right here and now. What kind of woman has a panic attack because the guy she likes says he loves her? What kind of person can’t control their own body? Her, it seems, and she’s so embarrassed she can’t make herself look up.

 

“Nobody’s blaming you, Legs,” Javi murmurs, reading her mind. “Bodies do crazy things sometimes. Ain’t none of this your fault. You get me?”

 

She does, but she also doesn’t believe him for a second. Still, she nods and wraps her arms around his neck, holding on for all she’s worth.

 

“Thanks, Javi,” she whispers in his ear.

 

“I got your back,” he promises, rubbing her back. “You’re gonna be fine. But you gotta baby yourself today, okay? You just fought a battle.”

 

She lets go of him slowly with a ragged, “I feel like it.”

 

A garishly blue bottle appears in her line of sight, someone handing her a Powerade.

 

Alex. It’s Alex. She knows those hands.

 

“Thank you,” she murmurs, taking the bottle without looking up at him.

 

“You need electrolytes,” Alex says, his voice unerringly even. That, amazingly enough, hurts more than anything else could right now, because she doesn’t know where he’s at, what kind of damage she’s unknowingly caused.

 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, her eyes welling up again as she chances a glance toward him.

 

Sadness strains his face. Will’s right behind him, looking as worried and helpless as she’s ever seen him.

 

“Nothin’ to be sorry for,” Alex replies, giving her a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You don’t owe me any apologies. I’m sorry for overwhelming you like that.”

 

“But I shouldn’t have been scared,” she tries to explain, even as the word feels like the biggest understatement of her life. “There’s nowhere I feel safer and happier than here with you. I overreacted so much and it doesn’t even make _sense_.”

 

“Too much for your head so your body shut down,” Javi tells her. “It _happens_. It don’t make you weak and it don’t mean you did anybody wrong. Give yourself a break, Legs. You’re the only one blaming yourself. Pretty sure those two lumbering fools are blaming themselves.”

 

“It’s gonna kill me that I had any part in this happening,” Will confesses.

 

Jules shakes her head. “You didn’t know. None of us did. And I know your misguided self was just trying to look out for me.”

 

“Yeah, well, I handled it badly.”

 

“Yeah,” she agrees. “You did. And I’d really appreciate it if you figured out how to not do that again because I love you, Will, but I don’t need you policing my love life.”

 

Will gives her a somber nod. “Yeah. Okay.”

 

It’s good enough for now and Jules turns to Alex, but he heads her off before she can so much as open her mouth.

 

“Now’s not the time for us to talk about what I said,” he says.

 

“No,” she replies. “It’s not. I need… I need time to process. I need some space.”

 

“I’m not gonna crowd you, chica,” he promises.

 

“No, Alex…” Her heart drops and she finds herself breaking eye contact. “ _Space_. I need a few days to… to think.”

 

Jules glances back long enough to see the realization dawn on his face.

 

It’s like watching his heart break right in front of her.

 

“I’m not saying anything’s over,” Jules says. “I’m not saying that. At all. I just… need to wrap my head around some things.”

 

Alex swallows hard, giving her a wooden nod. “Okay,” he agrees. “Whatever you need.”

 

She wants to tell him it’s not what she needs, that even though she knows this is what she has to do right now, she still wants to reach for him, but she can’t. Because she really does need distance, so badly it hurts. Just last night she’d accepted they like each other, had barely agreed to a _date_. That alone had been a months-long struggle. And now he just professed he’s in love with her? That’s a whole different step, a giant leap even…

 

And even _thinking_ about it has the world shrinking a little bit again, her hands shaking, her breathing start to speed up again.

 

“I’m gonna take you home,” Javi announces and Jules looks to him like he’s just tossed her life preserver. “You need to be in your own space, but you can’t be driving yet.”

 

“Yeah,” she agrees. Driving really does sound impossible right now. “Okay.”

 

“Will, come and pick me up later?” Javi asks. “I’ll text you. It’s gonna be a few hours, though.”

 

“I know the drill,” Will confirms. “I’ll wait for your message. And if she needs _anything_ …”

 

“What she needs is emotional space while she recovers from this,” Javi reminds them. “Right now that’s the best way you can help.”

 

Javi’s words are a relief. It feels like she’s pushing them away, and the guilt that comes along with that is too heavy for words. But she needs it and Javi knows that. Hell, they all know it, which makes her feel better, even if just a little bit. They might be two of the most important people in her life, but she can’t face either of them right now.

 

It’s too much.

 

“Come on, Legs,” Javi says, standing back up and offering her a hand up. “Use them stems and let’s get outta here.”

 

She nods, letting him help her up. She digs in her pocket for her car keys and as she hands them over, she glances back at Will and Alex. Will is saying something she can’t hear to Alex. He nods, but never once looks away from her.

 

The restrained look of longing on his face guts her. That she did this to him - to _them_ \- is a bodyblow. But she also knows asking for distance was the right move. If today has proven anything, it’s that she needs time to work through where she’s at more than she knew.

 

Javi opens her passenger side door. “You got seat heaters?”

 

“What?” she asks, climbing in.

 

“In your car,” he replies. “You’re shivering. You need to raise your body temp. Put your seatbelt on. And don’t stop drinking that Powerade. It’s important.”

 

She goes to answer him - really, to tell him off as well as that Powerade isn’t her favorite, especially the blue one - but he shuts the door before she can. He points at the bottle in her hand with raised eyebrows. A silent standoff fills the next handful of seconds, but Javi doesn’t budge. Jules finally sighs, rolls her eyes, and takes another swig of the sports drink. Satisfied, he nods before rounding the car to get in the driver’s side.

 

“You’re not my father, you know,” Jules sasses, finally feeling a bit more like herself as they buckle their seatbelts. As if to refute her words, he turns on her seat warmer for her. “I already have one, _and_ a big brother who thinks he’s a pinch hitter for the role.”

 

“Never said I was,” Javi says, shooting her a not-so-innocent smile. “I’m not the one you’re calling papi.”

 

“Oh… my God,” Jules says. “I cannot believe you just said that.”

 

Javi chuckles. “Had to get at least one dig in,” he admits. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Like I want to hit you,” she replies without skipping a beat.

 

“Oh good, so you’re feeling normal.”

 

“You’re the _worst_ ,” Jules says, unable to keep a smile off her lips. He shoots her a huge grin in response, more than a little delighted at some shade of their usual banter shining through.

 

“I know. It’s true. I’m awful,” Javi says with dramatic flair. “Tell you what, when we get to your place, you go take a quick shower, if you’re feeling up to it. I’m gonna make you some hot tea and find us a shitty action flick to make fun of together. Okay?”

 

“You don’t have to stay,” she says. “I’m sure you had plans. I didn’t mean to hijack your day off.”

 

“My plans might’ve been a shitty action movie,” he replies. “How do you know? Stop feelin’ sorry for yourself and let me play hero. Does my ego good.”

 

“Like you need help with that,” she snarks.

 

“See?” he asks, turning toward her neighborhood. “Why would I want to do anything else when I have company like this?”

 

Jules snorts, watching the world speed by out her window. “Obviously you and masochism are a little too close.”

 

“Must be,” he agrees. “That or I like you ‘cause remind me of one of my sisters and even if Will and Alex weren’t my friends, there’s no way I’m gonna leave you alone right now.”

 

She smiles, ducking her head a bit under the wave of gratitude that hits her. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. “Which sister?” Jules asks.

 

“Maria Rosa,” he answers. “Only one older than me. She likes to give me shit, too.”

 

“Sounds like a girl with a good head on her shoulders.”

 

“Yeah.” Javi laughs. “You two’d get along. Probably make my life miserable in the process.”

 

“You’d love it,” Jules informs him as he pulls onto her street and hunts down a parking spot.

 

He grins. “I would. I should introduce you two next time she’s in town.”

 

Jules nods as he parks and turns off the car. “That sounds fun.”

 

“You good to walk on your own, you think?” he asks, giving her an appraising look. It’s clinical and oddly reassuring. He knows what to watch for better than she does and he doesn’t seem alarmed, so she figures that’s a good step.

 

“You tell me,” she says, none of the usual bite in her tone.

 

Javi nods. “Yeah,” he decides. “You’re good. Just stay near me and if you feel dizzy grab hold of my arm, okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

They follow through with the plan he laid out for them, him going to her small kitchen and her heading back to the bathroom. Maybe that helps, she thinks. Having a plan, a chain of events she doesn’t have to decide or control on her own. It feels like it does. She showers quickly, ridding herself of the sticky layer of dried sweat before dressing in her warmest, fluffiest pajamas and exiting her bathroom to find the distinctive smell of herbal tea wafting through her apartment.

 

It’s soothing, making her feel cozy.

 

“You have crappy tea choices,” Javi tells her the second he sees her. “I’m buying you tea for Hanukkah. This is sad.”

 

“I wasn’t aware you were a tea snob,” she tells him, taking a mug from his hands and letting it warm her, the scent of peaches filling her senses.

 

“There are some things in life you don’t skimp on,” he says. “The pre-bagged crap from Target is just a sad excuse for flavored water.”

 

Jules raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t that what all tea is? Flavored water?”

 

“Yeah, we can’t be friends anymore.”

 

“Well, there go your crappy action film plans then.”

 

“Okay,” Javi says, holding his hands up. “I can overlook your tea problem in favor of bad television. But don’t think I’m forgetting this,” he adds, holding up a finger in warning.

 

Jules snorts. “Did you find a movie or not?”

 

“How do you feel about Batman?”

 

“The movies or…?” she ventures.

 

He makes a face. “I didn’t mean a trip to Gotham. Yeah, the movies.”

 

“Are we talking the Clooney or Keaton?” she asks. “Just don’t say Affleck or I really am kicking you out.”

 

“How about… Kilmer?” he asks with a toothy grin.

 

“Okay, that’s actually worse,” she replies.

 

“Exactly,” he points out.

 

She narrows her eyes. “Fine. But only if I get to mock all of the action sequences.”

 

“That’s the entire point.”

 

“Okay then,” she agrees. “But there needs to be popcorn.”

 

“As long as you keep hydrating.”

 

The movie itself is as bad as she recalls, and the second she remembers that Javi knows who her father is, she’s a whole lot freer with her criticism of Batman’s attempts at heroics. He joins in, happily mocking alongside her. It’s an easy afternoon, definitely not the one she’d been planning, but exactly what she needs anyhow.

 

It’s only when the movie ends and she sees Javi glancing at his phone that she realizes hers is still on Alex’s nightstand. It feels like forever ago she left it there. She feels like a different _person_ left it there.

 

She likes that person better.

 

That thought has Jules staring at the wall until Javi nudges her shoulder.

 

“You feeling well enough for Will to stop by?” he asks. His eyes dart over her, doing his own evaluation just in case.

 

“I’m fine, Javi,” she replies, giving him a genuine smile at his concern. “Probably gonna pop some Advil and keep a heat pad on my back because I feel kinda like I got run over by a truck. But I’m fine. I swear.”

 

“That’s ‘cause none of your muscles would relax,” Javi tells her. “Advil and heat’s a good idea, but if this keeps happening, you need to talk to a doctor. You got me?”

“It was only the once.”

 

“And that’d be where the ‘if this keeps happening’ part comes in,” he reminds her, his tone leaving zero room for argument. “Especially with what you and your family do.”

 

His look is pointed enough that she knows _exactly_ what he’s referring to. Jules huffs in exasperation, tossing her hands in the air.

 

“Does _everyone_ know my secret identity?”

 

“If by ‘everyone’ you mean the people who know your dad’s the Arrow and watch your brother worry every time he hears something about Tempest on the radio… Then yes, yes, everyone knows,” Javi tells her. “Cool your jets, Legs. It’s not like Will or Alex or me are telling anyone. And you _know_ Sara won’t.”

 

“Unbelievable,” she mutters, shaking her head.

 

“Point is,” he begins again, “a vigilante having a panic attack in the field is a whole new level of dangerous.”

 

“I know. I don’t have a death wish,” she replies. Jules settles back in the couch, giving Javi as open a look as she can muster. “I haven’t talked to my therapist in months, but I’ll call her tomorrow and tell her everything, okay? I promise.”

 

“Good.” Javi pats her leg before standing up and stretching. “Will’s gonna be here in five. He’s got your phone and your pup. Meantime, I’m gonna grab you that Advil. I shoulda thought of that earlier. Where’s it at?”

 

“Bathroom cupboard… next to the box of tampons,” she tells him, watching for a reaction. More like _hoping_ for one, to give her something to needle him about.

 

It fails.

 

Javi snorts, completely unfazed. “You know I delivered a baby last winter, right?” he asks. “Back seat of a minivan. Healthy baby boy and a mama who was ready to bite my damn head off ‘cause we couldn’t get her to the hospital on time. If you think a box of some cotton with a string attached is gonna gross me out, we need to have a chat about what it’s like delivering a baby in a Grand Caravan.”

 

“No. No, thank you,” Jules says, shaking her head. “You win.”

 

“And don’t you forget it!” Javi snarks as he heads to her bathroom.

 

He comes back a moment later with a glass of water and two pills. She downs them with a thankful sigh just as a knock sounds on the door, accompanied by a happy bark.

 

“You good?” Javi checks one more time.

 

Jules tsks at him. “Such a mother hen.”

 

He rolls his eyes, but he takes it as the permission she grants to get the door. A second later a ball of fur is rocketing into her. Jules laughs, rubbing Bokeh’s sides, fighting the urge to give into the exhaustion that simple move instills in her. Bokeh notices immediately, though, climbing up onto the bed, butting her head into Jules’ chest, looking up at her with a loving concern that only dogs can achieve.

 

It never ceases to amaze Jules how perceptive dogs are.

 

“I’m okay, sweet girl,” she says, stroking Bokeh’s head as the lab makes concerned little noises. Jules kisses her nose. “I know. I know. I hear you, Bokeh. I’m glad you’re home with me, too.”

 

“She picked up on some of my nerves, I think,” Will says from the doorway.

 

He hasn’t stepped a foot inside her apartment, instead hovering in the threshold like he’s not sure he’s welcome. The worry and seriousness lining his face make him look years older, less like himself, and Jules sighs at the sight of the deepening furrow of his brow.

 

“Thanks for bringing her,” Jules says before giving him a dry look. “You can come in, you know. Stop hovering like some kind of creeper, or whatever.”

 

He barely steps inside. He licks his lips, eyes darting around at everything but Jules as he shoves his hands in his pockets.

 

“Yeah, so this conversation looks like it’s gonna be hella fun,” Javi notes. “And that’s my cue.”

 

“Wait, didn’t you need a ride?” Will asks.

 

“Not as much as you two need to talk,” Javi replies, clapping his friend on the back before waving at Jules. “I’m outta here, Legs. Call me if you need anything. Got it?”

 

“I got it,” she agrees. “Thanks again, Javi. And tell Maria Rosa I said hi and that we should get some mediocre tea next time she’s in town.”

 

“Dios mio,” Javi mutters as he goes. “I’m my own worst enemy.”

 

And then it’s just Will and Jules.

 

Her studio is small, but the distance between them has never been greater.

 

“Are you doing okay?” he asks after a moment, watching her with a combination of guilt and disquiet that reminds her more of a puppy than her brother.

 

“I’m fine,” Jules replies. “Don’t go treating me like I’m gonna break. I won’t.”

 

“I know,” Will says. “Nothing’s broken you yet. I’m not sure anything could. You’ve fought more battles than anyone I’ve ever met, except maybe Dad. But I never meant to add to them, Jules. Not once. I don’t want to be someone who makes your life harder. I want to be someone you can rely on and I… I am _so_ sorry that when it really mattered I said and did exactly the wrong thing.”

 

He means it. That’s a start.

 

Jules takes a minute, glancing down at Bokeh, concentrating on the soft lines in the fur around her ears before looking back at her brother.

 

“I know you’re sorry,” she admits. “And I’m sorry that I slapped you because that was not the right reaction, either. But, Will… being sorry doesn’t mean much if you don’t change your behavior. I _know_ we surprised you and I’m sorry for how you found out about us. But you don’t get to pass judgement on my lovelife and dismiss me from the conversation. I don’t deserve that. And you know what? Ellie and Beth won’t deserve that either when they get involved with someone you don’t approve of. I think we both know you would never do that to Nate, so drop the double standard. You need to respect our right to make our own choices for our lives. Do you get that?”

 

Maybe that’s something she needs to internalize herself. Her fight with Ellie resurfaces and looking back on it, even though she thought it was in Ellie’s favor, she’d done almost the same exact thing with regards to her sister and Sara. Doesn’t Ellie deserve the same right to choose what relationship she wants or doesn’t?

 

Jules curses under her breath.

 

“Yeah,” Will says, breaking her train of thought. “Yes. I get that.”

 

“Good,” Jules says. And then she smiles, which he tentatively returns. “So… are you just gonna stand there like a coat rack or are you going to stay a while?”

 

“I’d like to stay,” he says. “If you’ll let me.”

 

Jules rolls her eyes. “I’m not kicking you out, am I?” she asks. “Come in. Stop being so rigid. I forgive you and I never blamed you for the panic attack at all. Just for being a dick before that.”

 

“That’s more than generous.” He shrugs out of his jacket and crosses the room, only to pause when he reaches her. It’s a long exaggerated couple of seconds of uncertainty before he finally asks, “Would you mind if I hugged you?”

 

She can’t help it. She rolls her eyes again, but she also stands. “Fine, you big sap.”

 

Truth is, though, she loves this. Will is an affectionate guy and a great hugger. He always leaves her feeling encompassed in familiar, familial warmth. It’s like all the best moments of her childhood rolled into one moment. She cherished that - cherishes _him_ \- always. Even when he fucks up.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into her shoulder. “I really am.”

 

“I know,” she assures him.

 

“You’re wrong about one thing, though,” Will adds, backing off slightly, but keeping his hands on her shoulders as he looks her in the eye. “I don’t disapprove of Alex.”

 

Jules frowns, certain she misheard him. “What?”

 

“I thought...” Will starts, letting his hands fall away and swallowing hard as he licks his lips. “I jumped to conclusions that weren’t fair. To you or to him. Thinking about it rationally, I know he’s not the kind of man who just messes around with his best friend’s sister. I know that. When we first met… maybe. But he’s not that guy anymore. I should get that better than anyone because I’m not the same person I used to be either. He’s a good man, Jules. I have a hard time thinking of anyone good enough for you, but he might come the closest.”

 

“You talked to him,” Jules realizes. “After I left. You talked about us, him and me.”

 

“I did,” Will agrees. “And I’m more than convinced that whatever is between the two of you is real.”

 

She lets out a breathless little laugh, her voice soft as she says, “It is. It really is.”

 

Will stares at her. “You okay to talk about this?”

 

“I’m fine,” she says. And she is. It’s not panic that makes her heart race this time. It’s Alex. Jules takes a steadying breath. “But that doesn’t mean I’m ready for something… quite so real.”

 

“Because he… said what he said?” Will asks.

 

“Because he loves me?” Jules asks with another laugh before stopping, the words hitting her all over again. “He loves me,” she whispers in amazement. “How did that even happen?”

 

“You might not realize this, Jules,” Will says, “but you’re very loveable.”

 

Jules shoves his shoulder. “You know what I mean. This… it wasn’t supposed to be this. It was supposed to be just messing around, just like you assumed. That’s what I was looking for, anyhow, even if he wasn’t willing to settle for that. But somewhere along the way he made me feel… I don’t know. Special, I guess.”

 

“Huh,” Will says, watching her like he’s realized something she hasn’t yet.

 

She frowns. “What?”

 

“It’s just, we were talking about how you couldn’t understand how he fell in love with you,” Will explains, “and the first thing you said was that _he_ made _you_ feel something.”

 

Oh.

 

 _Oh_.

 

“I’m not ready to be in love with anyone again,” she tells her brother.

 

“Because of Jackson?” he asks.

 

“No,” she answers, shaking her head. “Because of me. I like him. I like being with him. I can admit that. But anything more than that… I think I need time.”

 

“Well,” says Will. “You’ve got that. Because Alex loves you. And he’s not going anywhere.”


	22. Chapter 22

 

“ _ You were right, you know _ .”

 

Jules looks around. The room is blurry, and she blinks to focus it, trying to remember why it looks so familiar. It’s a photography exhibit at the museum… the one Jackson had taken her to on their third date. The images sharpen. The exhibit had been more her style than his - something she hadn’t figured out until much later - but that hadn’t really mattered because it hadn’t been about the art. Not for him, at least. He’d watched her more than the photos, holding her hand the whole time, kissing her the moment they were alone.

 

She’d gone home with him for the first time that night.

 

The pain that comes with the perfect memory is duller than it has been before. The edges don’t cut her like they once did. They still bruise, but they don’t make her bleed, not like they used to.

 

Jackson’s words float back to her.

 

“I usually am,” Jules replies, smiling at a photo she can’t quite see.

 

He chuckles at her side. “You usually are,” he agrees. “But this isn’t about me. Not anymore. It’s about you. About your fear.”

 

She sighs, staring at the photo in front of her. It slips in and out of focus, changing. One moment it’s a woman crying, her pain bleeding right off the print. Another it’s a happy couple laughing with their heads tilted toward each other intimately in the park. Sometimes the woman in the pictures is her. Sometimes it’s a stranger.

 

“It’s not that you’re afraid of being in love, Julie,” Jackson says, finally pulling her attention back to him. “We both know you’re capable of that.”

 

“I was,” Jules says. “With you.”

 

“You haven’t changed as much as you think,” he tells her. “You’re still you. And you’ve still got the biggest heart I’ve ever seen. You’re just afraid of risking it and being hurt the same way all over again.”

 

Jules huffs, chewing on the tip of her tongue. “Quite the insight for the ghost of my dead boyfriend lingering in my subconscious,” she says, turning back to the photo. This time it’s a couple walking towards them, but she can’t see the man’s face. But she doesn’t have to, because she knows who it is. “Did you say everything you came to say?”

 

“No.” 

 

Jackson smiles, an edge of sadness curling at his lips as he touches his hand to her cheek. She  _ feels _ it, the warmth and fading familiarity of his touch leaving an imprint on her skin as he urges her to look at him again.

 

A tear slips down her cheek, running right through his hand. But it doesn’t take away from his touch in the slightest. 

 

This. This is what she lost with him. This is the part she’s been so dead-set against replacing. Affection and connection, the interweaving of her life with someone else. But, in truth, this is the part she misses most. 

 

Jules shuts her eyes against the feel of his palm on her skin, savoring it, relishing his touch with everything in her.

 

“I love you,” he says, his voice drifting over her the same way it had a thousand times in life. “And I came to say goodbye.” 

 

Jules’ eyes shoot open, but she doesn’t find the soft blue of Jackson’s gaze looking back at her. It’s Alex staring at her now, his warm, honey-brown eyes locking with hers. 

 

“It’s time to wake up, chica,” he tells her. 

 

With a gasp, Jules wakes up in her own bed. She sits up abruptly, looking around, half-expecting to find the exhibit still there, but it’s just her, in her apartment. Her mind spins as she gulps down big breaths of air and she presses her palm to her racing heart. Bokeh sits up next to her, licking her cheek with blatant concern until Jules pulls away with a soft, “I’m okay, girl.” She urges the lab back, patting her in reassurance, wiping the dog kisses from her face.

 

Jules reaches for her phone.

 

She doesn’t check the time, doesn’t rethink her actions at all. The call she places is pure instinct and she doesn’t consider anything until the other side picks up.

 

“Julianna? Are you okay?”

 

His voice washes over her and Jules lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. He’s fine. Alex is okay. She’s not even sure why she was worried, but she had been. Connecting with him lets her body relax and she takes in a slow breath, letting it out even slower before plopping back onto the bed.

 

“Julianna?”

 

The worry in his voice wraps around her like a warm blanket.

 

“I’m fine,” Jules says, her voice more worn than she realized, which probably does nothing to reassure him. “I had a dream, that’s all. I needed to… I don’t know, talk to you, I guess.”

 

The line is quiet for a moment. In the three and a half days since his confession and her meltdown, they’ve texted a couple of times - mostly reassurances that she’s okay and him confessing he’d had a conversation with her brother - but they haven’t talked or seen each other at all. It’s only now, with him on the other end of the line, that she realizes how much she really misses him. 

 

“I’m off work in two hours,” he tells her. “I could swing by if you want. Bring you coffee or somethin’.”

 

Does she want that? 

 

Yes. She does. 

 

But it’s also not the best idea. If he’s off work in two hours, that means it’s currently four in the morning. 

 

“No, I just…” Jules pauses, running her fingers through her hair, the instinctive urge to not show any vulnerability still tugging at her. But it’s getting easier to ignore. “I just wanted to hear your voice. I need to get some more sleep, I have things to do before the exhibit. But I just woke up and called you, without even thinking about it. Sorry if you were busy.”

 

“You can always call me, Julianna,” Alex says. “Always… I’ve missed you.”

 

Jules smiles, the hesitation in his voice so heartfelt, so honest. “I’ve missed you, too,” she replies. “A lot. More than I thought I would.”

 

“Yeah?” he asks. She can hear the smile in his voice. 

 

“Yeah,” she agrees with a sleepy little laugh. 

 

“I thought maybe you, uh… maybe you didn’t,” he offers, sounding so uncertain it hurts. “I thought maybe you saying you needed space was your way of sayin’ that was it.”

 

“It’s not,” she replies softly. “I just had to work through some things.”

 

“And you’ve done that?” he asks. “You worked stuff out?”

 

“I’m getting there,” she says. “Promise.”

 

“Good,” he replies with a short exhale. “Good. I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

 

“Okay.” Jules yawns, her jaw popping with the force of it. “Hey, do you think that tonight at the exhibit-”

 

The wail of a siren interrupts her train of thought.

 

“I gotta go, baby,” he tells her. “Later, okay? Sleep well.”

 

“Stay safe,” she replies, the words leaving her with the desire to kiss him so he knows she  _ needs _ him to stay safe. 

 

Instead she swears she hears him grin before the line goes dead.

 

Jules moves to turn off her screen, but her eyes catches on his contact photo. 

 

It’s a great shot. He’d been baking something and she’d just stolen a bite from the ingredients lined up next to the stove. The look he’s giving the camera, both amused and warning, is intensely attractive, and it definitely foreshadows the way he’d grabbed her around the waist a moment later and kissed the stolen cinnamon and sugar mixture from her lips as she’d laughed.

 

She wants that again, wants it all the time, even if she’s not quite ready to put a name to what that means. But she doesn’t have to know what it means, she thinks, because any way she looks at it, it means  _ him _ . 

 

Jules falls back to sleep with echoes of her own laughter ringing in her ears, his stubble scraping the long expanse of her throat, the memory of his hard shoulders under her hands, the phantom sweet taste of cinnamon clinging to her lips. 

 

Dreams come, like they always do, but all she wakes up with is residual happiness buoying her heart, thoughts of Alex racing through her mind. 

 

The day that follows is a rush of activity. 

 

Exhibits take a lot of work and while most of that doesn’t fall to her, some of it does. She’s on the phone with the museum’s curator twice and the event coordinator three times. Their publicist calls her to to set up a few interviews and she has to swing by the museum to double-check the order they put her work in because  _ someone _ in shipping and receiving can’t keep track of labels. 

 

On top of all of that, it’s a formal event and she’s Julianna Queen presenting her work. That demands a certain level of polish she doesn’t normally go for. The dress she’s got, but the hair, makeup and nails take time. 

 

By the time she’s actually  _ ready _ for the exhibit, she’s only got about twenty minutes to spare, but that disappears in the blink of an eye when she arrives at the museum. She gets caught up in the last-minute hubbub, including an impromptu meet-and-greet with a Channel 52 reporter, who gets her best Queen Family Smile - trademarked by her grandmother many years ago.

 

It’s only after Martin finds her, looking ill-at-ease in a far-too-snug suit that stretches tightly across his broad shoulders, that she realizes exactly how late it’s gotten. 

 

“Not to be a bitch about it,” he tells her in a voice that’s slightly above a whisper, “but you’re better than everyone else here.” 

 

Jules laughs and gives him a look, but he only doubles down with his seriousness. 

 

“It’s not even close,” he qualifies, scrunching up his nose. 

 

She grins. “You’re not getting a raise.”

 

“ _ Please _ ,” Martin snorts. “Artist to artist, I just like being around your work. It’s inspiring. Don’t get me wrong, pay is vital, but selling your pieces is an honor.”

 

“Alright,” she relents. “Maybe a  _ little  _ raise.”

 

“Or a Christmas bonus?” Martin suggests with a nonchalant shrug.

 

Jules pats his shoulder. “We’ll work something out,” she assures him just as the doors open and people start wandering in. 

 

It’s gametime. 

 

The museum’s head curator, a noteworthy artist in her own right before arthritis hampered her ability to work - says a few words to open the evening’s event and the servers start ambling around the room, offering champagne and finger food. 

 

Jules spends a bit of time milling about, but mostly stays near her work so she can talk about it with anyone who has questions. It’s not a huge crowd, but it’s a good turnout for the Starling City Art Museum, partly owing to the Queen family name, no doubt, and partly owing to the number of art students from SCU.

 

Sometimes, Jules likes talking to students. Showing off can be great fun, but that mostly applies to the younger kids who are eager to learn from her and respect her expertise. The college students tend to think themselves both experts and critics, as if a B+ in Art History 101 means they’re ready to tear into actual artists with lofty judgement. 

 

_ Everyone’s _ a critic, though. She’s known that since her days as a dancer.  

 

“I’m not sure… I’m not really appreciating it, I guess,” announces a truly nerdy looking brunette to her friend. They’re just a few feet away from Jules and she finds herself thinking she could shoot that same sentiment right back at this girl. 

 

“I sorta like it,” her friend replies, clearly looking for agreement that she doesn’t get. “There’s some good use of negative space and the implied texture builds one after another. I think you need to look at it all as a set. They’re clearly meant to go together.”

 

“Sure,” the first girl admits. “That’s the only way they make sense at all, but they still seem lacking in strength and vision.”

 

“Maybe you need an eye appointment then,” Jules chimes in, sipping her champagne with a smile that says ‘fuck you’ as clearly as she can.

 

“Excuse me?” 

 

“She’s kidding!” Martin chimes in with a forced laugh. “Completely kidding. Ms. Queen is such a joker.”

 

“Oh…” the girl says, eyeing Jules with distaste. “Queen. This is your work. I get it.”

 

“Yes, I painted it entirely using my parents’ money as a medium,” she replies in an overly saccharine tone. “If you look very, very closely you might see little shreds of hundred dollar bills have been ground into the paint.”

 

The girl actually looks back at the painting like she might find it’s actually made from money. 

 

Jules blinks at her. “You cannot be serious.” 

 

“Oh, I think you’ll find Cora’s always serious.”

 

The voice sets her teeth on edge as it rolls over her. It’s been awhile, but she’d know that smug, overly familiar tone anywhere. 

 

“One of yours, Tyler?” Jules asks, looking back at her old teaching assistant and one-time lover. There’s no guessing that her question is meant more than one way. Tyler clearly knows that as his shoulders tighten, grim lines filling in his face. 

 

“She’s a student of mine, yes,” he confirms. “She’s got a lot to learn, but she has potential.”

 

Jules can’t tell from that if he’s sleeping with this one or not, but she also really doesn’t care. 

 

“She has the potential to move along and behave nicely with the other artists,” Jules counters. “Maybe she won’t insult some of them and she’ll actually get a chance to ask some questions and learn something.”

 

The girl leaves in a huff, but her friend lingers behind a moment with an apologetic, “Sorry for her. I really like your paintings.”

 

“It’s not that she doesn’t like them,” Jules says, eyeing the girl in question. Cora glares at her friend’s head, very unhappy that she isn’t following her. “It’s that she was rude about it. You don’t need to apologize on her behalf.”

 

“Can I come back in a bit and ask you a few questions about your work?” the girl asks, looking over her shoulder back toward her friend, who widens her eyes in exaggerated anger, gesturing with her head for her to get her butt over there.

 

“Of course,” Jules replies with a genuine smile. “That’s why I’m here.”

 

The girl looks relieved and gives Tyler a quick, nervous smile before scurrying off to join Cora. Martin, too, has moved on. He’s chatting amiably with a well-dressed older couple that Jules vaguely recognizes from the last Queen Foundation Gala. Martin’s in full salesman mode, so she leaves him to it. 

 

“It’s good to see you, Jules,” Tyler says, pulling her attention to him. 

 

“Really?” she asks. “Why?”

 

He ignores her, instead turning to her work with a skeptical look, folding his arms as he stares at it. Stupid as it is, part of her is anxious to hear what he thinks of it. He’d been her teacher, someone whose opinion she had valued highly once upon a time, even if she  _ knows _ half of what he says is absolute garbage. And yet for a split second she’s back to being a college sophomore, looking for his approval. 

 

She doesn’t like it. At all.

 

“You’ve improved a lot,” Tyler announces. “Daniella was right. It’s the implied texture that makes your work stand out. And the depth. I like your progressive use of color and the way your lines vary in sharpness.”

 

Jules follows his eye, seeing exactly what he’s focusing on, not even bothering to tamp down the pride rising inside her, even if it’s a little too dependent on his praise specifically. She’s  _ good _ , damn it.

 

“Thank you,” she says.

 

“It’s a powerfully personal series, Jules,” he adds. “You really should be proud. I can’t see you having put this much of what you’ve gone through on display when I was teaching you… I heard what happened with your boyfriend. I’m sorry.”

 

She probably should have expected this - her series is very much about the process of moving through grief, after all - but she still isn’t prepared for it. Especially not from Tyler. But it’s not  _ just _ his words that make her fidget under the weight of his sentiment. It’s that he’s has a way of looking right through her. He’s always been like that; it’s part of what makes him a good teacher, and an even better lover. But now it only makes her uneasy as he pierces her with a heavy gaze over the rim of his black-framed glasses.

 

“Me too,” she says, ignoring his stare, concentrating on her art instead. She doesn’t bother adding more, because he doesn’t deserve that. He might be able to see her soul from her art, but she refuses to give him more pieces of herself than that.

 

“I was glad to see you get back to painting, though,” Tyler says when it becomes clear she’s not going to add more. “You were too good to waste your talents on dance.”

 

Jules rolls her eyes. “I was a good dancer, too, Tyler,” she replies, not bothering to hide her annoyance. “And I’m not having this argument with you again. We had it years ago. It’s done.”

 

“No argument,” Tyler says, raising his hands in placation. “I’m not here to fight with you, Jules.”

 

“Then why are you here?” she demands. “Other than the art, I mean. Why were you calling my studio to make sure I’d be at the exhibit? There’s no way it was for the benefit of your students.”

 

“I’ve been thinking about you lately,” he admits, tilting his head, his gaze intensifying, nailing her in place. “We had some good times together, didn’t we? I thought maybe it was time for us to catch up.”

 

She’ll wonder later if she looks as surprised as she feels. They haven’t talked since she quit school. They didn’t even  _ date _ . He’d been her rebound guy after an exceptionally painful breakup with her first boyfriend, and all they’d ever shared was sex. Good sex, but it was just sex. They never spent the night. They never woke up next to each other, laid in each other’s arms, laughed together over something silly. They didn’t stay up watching late night tv together or leave toothbrushes because they knew they’d be back.

 

A few months ago, Tyler would have been exactly what she was looking for.

 

But now she knows he’s not.

 

Her phone buzzing with a text saves her from the strange moment.

 

“Give me a minute,” she says, turning away from him, shaking her head at the oddity of her life at the moment as she fishes out her phone from the hidden pocket in the side of her little black dress.

 

_ AC: You look stunning. _

 

Her heart flips, a grin splitting her face before she looks up to search the room.

 

When she finally spots him, her breath catches in her throat.

 

The world falls away. Tyler and Cora and Daniella and Martin all fade, as do the servers with their champagne and hors d'oeuvres, the art on the walls, the violinist playing in the the corner…

 

It’s just him. It’s just  _ them _ .

 

She smiles and the one he gives her is gorgeous and warm and  _ perfect _ .

 

“Jules?” Tyler asks. His tone makes her think he’s said her name more than once, but she doesn’t even look back at him.

 

“Sorry, Tyler, but you’re not what I’m looking for anymore,” Jules says, her eyes never leaving Alex. “And besides… I’m not available.”

 

And with that she makes a beeline for the man in question. The second she starts moving he licks his lips nervously, his eyes darting over her as he runs a hand down his suit, straightening his tie, adjusting his jacket… 

 

He’s adorable, in the hottest way possible.

 

“You came,” Jules says, her grin growing.

 

“‘Course I came,” Alex replies, tangling his fingers with hers, kissing her on the temple. “Finally got you to agree to a date. I wasn’t gonna waste that. But I am damned glad you look so happy to see me. Until your call this morning, I wasn’t really sure.”

 

“Needing space was never once about you, Alex,” she replies. 

 

“ _ Was _ ?” he asks, searching her face. “That mean you’re done?”

 

“Yeah,” Jules says, smiling, caressing his jaw with her free hand. His eyes warm with happiness as he leans into her touch. “I’m done with space from you. I’m sorry I wasn’t faster about working through things. You deserve better than that.”

 

“Nah,” he counters with a lopsided grin, tugging her closer with an affectionate squeeze of her hand. “A girl who takes her time and knows what she really wants is exactly what I deserve. I don’t resent you needing a few days, Julianna. I’m grateful for it.”

 

Sometimes, she knows she loves him, even if the word feels like lead on her tongue. Sometimes, it’s even easy to love him. Moments like this, though, when he’s exactly who she needs - a man she respects and is so connected with - it feels like she doesn’t have a choice but to love him.

 

Jules presses up on her toes, sliding her hand to cup his chin, pulling his lips down to hers. The kiss is gentle, a heartfelt expression of feelings that resonate down to her toes. It’s like coming home when she’s been out in the cold. Chaste as it is, the kiss is intimate, and she savors the hell out of it. 

 

“Hi,” she breathes against his lips when they part.

 

“Hi,” he echoes, nuzzling her nose before cupping her cheek. She leans into his palm with a content sigh, enjoying the warmth of his touch and the rough pads of his fingertips against her skin.

 

The world slowly comes back to her, reminding her where they are. Jules falls back, but not far, not letting him go as she takes in him in.

 

“You clean up well,” she notes. 

 

It’s an understatement. He wears the hell out of a suit. It rests crisply across his broad shoulders and hangs in a way that shows off his well-muscled form perfectly. She can’t resist reaching out and running her fingers down the length of his tie. He inhales sharply, his eyes narrowing at her with a dangerous glint, and she does it again.

 

“Yeah?” Alex asks, his hand covering hers, pressing her palm to his chest. “Can’t remember the last time I wore one. The tux at Elliot’s wedding, maybe, but that tie was a lot easier.”

 

She quirks an eyebrow. “The tie?” 

 

“Yeah,” he says,  looking a little sheepish. “Didn’t ever really have anyone to teach me how to do one right growing up, you know.”

 

“Oh,” she acknowledges, realization dawning on her that his dad had been long gone by the time he’d needed to learn things like that. “Well, you did a pretty great job today, so I’d say you learned.”

 

He lets out an anxious little laugh. “Well, uh, I didn’t do it at all. Your dad helped me out.”

 

Jules blinks. “My  _ dad _ ?” 

 

“Yeah,” Alex agrees. “We were training earlier for… you know… self-defense. I came straight here from the, uh, the headquarters.” 

 

Watching him try to navigate talking about Team Arrow without  _ saying _ anything about Team Arrow might be entertaining any other time, but right now she’s too caught up in the part about her father helping Alex with his tie. 

 

“Your dad’s kinda great,” Alex says. “I wasn’t sure about him at first, back when I first got to know Will. Queens have always been a sore spot with my mom, you know? But he’s a good guy, and if it hadn’t been for him all those years ago, stopping some of what his mom tried to do, I might not be here right now at all.”

 

Jules smiles. “My parents are the best,” she replies. “And I haven’t always appreciated that either, so, you’re in good company there.” She smoothes his tie down again before tugging on where her fingers are still laced with his. “Come on, let me show you my part of the exhibit?”

 

“Definitely, yeah,” he says, honestly looking interested in her work. That and  _ proud _ , even though he hasn’t seen them yet, which has her heart melting a bit.

 

Tyler is gone by the time they get over to her paintings, but Martin is still there. The couple he’d been talking to earlier is nowhere to be seen, but he’s grinning in a way that means either he made a sale or he’s about to speculate on her love life. 

 

Or maybe it’s both.

 

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Thai Food,” he says and Jules’ eyes close with a silent  _ ‘oh my God’ _ . “I hope you’re bringing our girl more than spring rolls these days.”

 

Alex - blessedly and thoroughly confused Alex - stares at him. “Spring rolls?”

 

“Hey, Martin, remember that holiday bonus we talked about?” Jules asks. 

 

“Say no more,” Martin demures, throwing his hands up before looking over her shoulder. “Oh look, I spy canapé. Suddenly I’m famished.”

 

With that, he goes, leaving Jules shaking her head at him until Alex squeezes her hand and draws her attention back to her paintings. 

 

“These are… they’re nice,” Alex says. He looks completely lost. “I like the colors.”

 

Jules grins at him. “You don’t know a thing about art, do you?” she asks. 

 

“I know when it’s pretty?” he offers and she laughs. “Other than that…”

 

“Okay, so there are a lot of styles of art and artists all paint for different reasons with different goals, just like every other kind of creative venture,” she tells him, letting him go to gesture as she talks. “I paint in a style called abstract expressionism. I didn’t always, but it’s what I gravitated toward when I started painting again after Jackson died. When I paint, it’s to get my feelings out using paint. I’m telling a story about my emotions. Understand?”

 

“Yeah. I think so,” he replies, looking back at the paintings with a different eye, trying to decode them.

 

“I did the first painting in this series two weeks after Jackson died,” she says, waving at the first piece. “It’s all pain. Harsh, sharp lines with broken edges that build on top of each other, weighing down any color beneath it.”

 

“Yeah, I see,” Alex agrees before looking back at her. “This series is about losing Jackson?”

 

“No,” she says, biting her lip, shaking her head, looking over the entire series. “It’s about finding myself.”

 

“Oh…” he says, looking back at the paintings with new understanding. “It gets… I dunno, happier and then sadder again? I’m sorry. I’m bad at this.”

 

“You’re not,” Jules says, gesturing at the art. “You’re right. It gets happier and then sadder and then happier again. Healing never happens in a straight line.”

 

He’s quiet for a moment as he takes them in before saying quietly, “No, it doesn’t.”

 

“We all have our own paths through grief.” Jules studies the paintings, thinking through all the moments - the good and the bad - that brought her to this place. “But it’s the journey that was my story here… That’s where I became Tempest. That one is when I moved back in with my parents. This was the first time I slept with someone again. This is when I opened my gallery… And that one is when I got to know you.”

 

“Me?” he asks, eyes darting from the painting to search her face. “That’s about me?”

 

“It’s about us,” she says, slipping her fingers into his hand.

 

He looks back at the painting, furiously searching it, trying so very hard to unravel all of its secrets. She lets him, taking the time to study him as he studies her work, feeling every ounce of what she poured onto that particular canvas.

 

“It’s warmer?” he asks, looking back at her with a question in his eyes as he licks his lips. “And sorta peaceful?”

 

“Yeah,” Jules agrees with a serene smile. “It is. But it’s just as strong with just as much depth. There’s passion in it as well as comfort, want and a sense of belonging. It’s all the ways you pulled me in and pushed me to finish putting myself back together.”

 

Hope and wonder play across his face as he releases her hand and turns to her, cupping her face. He cradles her close, searching her eyes. She smiles back, hiding nothing at all, letting all the joy she feels fill her completely. The rightness of this - of how she feels with him, how she makes him feel - far outweighs any kind of reservations she might have had. It’s so painfully obvious in this very moment, she’s not sure how she could not see it for so long. 

 

“Can I say it?” Alex asks. “I wanna say it, but I don’t wanna give you a panic attack again.”

 

“You can say it,” she whispers. Her heart starts to pound, but in a good way, and there’s no sense of fear in her being right now. 

 

“I love you so much, Julianna Queen,” he tells her. “And I really wanna buy our painting.”

 

Jules laughs, her heart soaring as she kisses his palm.  

 

“No offense, but I doubt you can afford it,” she replies. “But that’s okay, because it’s already yours.”

 

“What?” 

 

“It already belongs to you,” she tells him. “It was yours from the first stroke of paint on the canvas, even if I didn’t know it at the time. Just like me. I was yours from the start, too. It just took me a while to figure that out.” 

 

“I’m yours, too,” he tells her, his voice rough and gritty. “But I think I figured that out a whole lot earlier than you did.” 

 

“Oh, you definitely did,” Jules says. “But, that’s okay. It got us to where we are, right?”

 

“It did.” He nods. “And I  _ like _ where we’re at.”

 

“Me too,” she whispers. “Now are you gonna kiss me again or what?”

 

That’s not something she’ll ever have to ask twice. 

 

Alex pulls her in close, his mouth slanting over hers in a searing kiss. Her stomach swoops, her knees going weak as wraps herself around him, kissing him back with everything she has. It’s really not the most appropriate for a venue like this, but she doesn’t care. It’s a kiss of devouring passion and soulbound desire. He sweeps her off her feet in every sense, bending backwards slightly, holding her close and secure. 

 

When they finally part, she’s dazed and breathless.

 

“This is a hell of a first date,” he murmurs. 

 

“Yeah,” she manages, slowly gathering herself. “It really, really is.”

 

Everything about her is buzzing, so it takes a moment for her to realize that her phone is, too. 

 

For a second, she considers not answering it. Everything is idyllic right now and she doesn’t want to disturb the bubble of perfection they’ve built up together. But she also knows better than to avoid a call, especially when she pulls her phone from her pocket to find its her mom. 

 

“I need to take this,” she tells Alex, leaning into him as she answers. “Hey, Mom. Can this wait? I’m at the exhibit.”

 

“No, it definitely cannot wait,” her mom replies. “Thank God you answered. Jules, you need to be careful. Do you hear me?”

 

“What’s going on?” Jules asks, anxiety threading its way through her. 

 

“Just hang on,” Felicity says, the urgency in her voice setting Jules on edge. “Your father’s on his way.” 

 

“What? Why?” she asks, just as a nearby voice asks, “What’s wrong?” 

 

Jules turns to find Will standing right there. How long he’s been at the exhibit, she has no idea. Probably some time, judging by the half empty glass of champagne in his hand, but she’d been too wrapped up in Alex to notice and she wonders if kept his distance in an effort to give them some space. 

 

That’s for later, though. Right now she holds up a hand to ward him off before plugging her other ear with a finger to drown out the noise. 

 

“Mom, I need you to tell me what’s happening.”

 

“We got a lucky hit,” her mom says. Jules can hear her fingers flying across a keyboard as she talks. “Turns out our hitwoman guest was in the cell across from Helena Bertinelli at Iron Heights and they were close. A few other inmates confirmed that Patrice owed Helena her life. She’d do  _ anything _ for her.”

 

“Okay,” Jules replies. “Interesting, but so what?” 

 

“So backtracking Patrice’s movements for the last few months didn’t pop anything at first because we were skimming for faces that matched active government databases, not dormant files,” her mother tells her. 

 

Ice fills her veins. “What?” 

 

Before her mother can reply, the world goes dark.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings - Major injury, graphic violence. If you're okay with the show, you're probably okay with everything here. 
> 
> P.S. A special thank you on this one to Katie and Libby for their medical expertise.
> 
> P.P.S. Read this chapter in front of others at your own risk.

The room plunges into blackness and screams permeate the air.

 

In the seconds it takes for the emergency lights to kick in, panic spreads through the crowd, and not just because of the power outage. Shouts of pain echo from the upper level, the distinctive sounds of hand-to-hand combat followed by the heavy thuds of bodies hitting the ground following.

 

“She’s here,” Jules tells Felicity. “Tell Dad to hurry.”

 

Jules clicks the phone off before her mom can answer, shoving it back into her pocket as champagne glasses hit the floor. Shattered bursts come from every direction as people scramble to get away from the threat of danger, flooding adjoining rooms and emergency exits. 

 

Alex tugs Jules away from the rush, pulling her against the wall, Will following them.

 

She barely pays them any heed, eyes darting around, trying to find the danger.

 

The dull fluorescent backup lights finally flicker on in time to see a dark arrow flying through the air. It pierces the shoulder of one security guard, sending him flying off the stairs from the second level. Jules watches in horror as he tumbles down, landing in a broken heap just as a figure appears at the top of the staircase. 

 

Jules has never seen the Huntress and she’s never met Helena Bertinelli, but she recognizes the woman anyhow.

 

Age does nothing to mask the identity of the woman who so often toed the line between villain and vigilante once upon a time. But it does seem to have forced her to cement which side of that coin she’s on.

 

Another guard rushes Helena, but she barely bats an eye. Security is tight at the museum, but they’re no match for the Huntress. Helena bats the woman away with a couple of body-bruising moves, sending her crashing into a wall. A third guard runs up the steps, gun out, shouting warnings, but it’s useless. Helena fires an bolt and it hits the guard’s knee, sending him toppling to the ground.

 

But she isn’t done.

 

In the blink of an eye, she has another bolt noched and she aims it for the man’s chest.

 

“No!” Jules shouts, but she isn’t close enough.

 

The Huntress fires and the crossbow bolt finds its mark in the man’s heart.

 

“No,” Jules whispers, but the anguish filling her mixes readily with anger. Even from across the room, Jules can see the manic look of satisfaction on Helena’s masked face. A chill cuts its way down her spine, but she grits her teeth against it.

 

Someone brushes past them, shoving her and Alex back into her paintings.

 

The guards aren’t the only ones in danger, she realizes. People are getting hurt in the mindless rush for safety - some of the elderly patrons have been knocked to the ground, one man she can see is bleeding from a large gash in his head from running into a painting, and a woman is on the ground with a glass shard pierced through her foot.

 

Jules grabs Alex’s arm, pointing at them. “Get them out of here!” she orders, looking at Will. “Now! I can keep her distracted.”

 

“No way we’re leaving you,” Alex snaps.

 

“I’m fine,” Jules assures him, looking around for a weapon. 

 

She’s sure she can hold her own pretty well against Helena without anything, but she needs all the advantages she can get. When she spots a chain roping off an exhibit that hadn’t been opened for the evening, she almost smiles. Jules rips the chain from the wall and gives it a test whip, cracking the air with a sharp metallic clang. It’s not her chain whip, but it’s close enough.

 

And it feels  _ good _ .

 

Jules looks back at Helena across the quickly emptying room.

 

The chilling smile the other woman gives her is fuel to the fire.

 

“You have to trust me,” Jules says, eyes never leaving Helena. “I can take care of myself, Alex. Your duty is to get the civilians out of harm’s way.”

 

They want to protest, she can tell by the way they both tense, Will’s eyes darting to Helena while Alex’s gaze never wavers from Jules.

 

“Go!” Jules orders. “There’s been enough accidental victims in whatever this fight is already. Get them out of here  _ now _ .”

 

Despite their urgency to stick with her, they can’t ignore who they are at their core. As much as they’d both like to fight at her side, or possibly in her stead, they can’t ignore the cries of fear and pain around them. With a noise of unparalleled frustration from Alex and a very worried sigh from Will, they move to start gathering up the injured and get them to safety.

 

Helena hasn’t moved an inch, and Jules hasn’t looked away from her.

 

They study each other, Helena’s crossbow down, Jules’ chain wrapped around her arm for leverage, ready to be used when she needs it. But neither of them move. Jules can’t imagine what Helena sees, but she also doesn’t care. This is Helena Bertinelli. She should be dead, but instead it’s Jackson’s body lying in a cemetery, it’s her little brother who was shot. 

 

Jules has wanted justice for three years, has hated this once-faceless foe for just as long, but none of that changes that she still doesn’t know  _ why _ Helena did any of this.

 

They’ve never even met.

 

“What the hell do you want?” Jules shouts. “What is this even about?” 

 

Helena tilts her head, just taking Jules in. The cold smile on her lips never leaves as she finally starts descending the stairs, her fingers trailing along the railing.

 

“You were just a pawn, you know,” Helena tells her. She lets out a humorless laugh. “A pawn in a much bigger game. I didn’t really expect you to make it to the other side of the board. But here we are.”

 

It doesn’t answer anything, and it’s vaguely insulting. As if Jules needed anything else to make her pulse race, setting her even more on edge.

 

“Why did you come after us?” Jules demands.

 

“Because you were in my way,” Helena snaps, her cool facade slipping. For a split second Jules can see the true madness hiding inside the woman, but then she smiles again, and it’s gone as she quirks her head. “Why else?”

 

“Because I was in your way,” Jules repeats, her voice cracking with the anger and grief that had almost turned her to stone. “You killed Jackson,” she bites out. “He bled out in my arms. He was a good man and I loved him… and I had to watch him  _ die  _ because I was in your way?”

 

Helena falters, her brow furrowing with an emotion Jules can’t pinpoint before she looks down at where she taps her fingers on the railing.

 

“Nobody was supposed to die,” she whispers. “Not then.”

 

“Is that supposed to make it better?” Jules demands, taking a few steps closer, tightening her grip on the chain as tears blur her vision. “Is it supposed to be okay because you didn’t _mean_ for your hitman to murder him? It doesn’t! It doesn’t make it okay! I spent three years in absolute hell blaming myself for his death.”

 

“I know!” Helena shouts, her voice raw and violent, green eyes flashing dangerously, igniting the madness waiting there. “I know, and I hate you for it.”

 

Jules recoils.

 

“All I ever wanted was to destroy my father’s legacy,” Helena spits out. “To bury the ruins of everything he created, crumble them so there was nothing left but ash, to make them disappear as if they’d never existed in the first place!”

 

“I had  _ nothing  _ to do with your father or his mob,” Jules growls.

 

“No,” Helena agrees. “You didn’t. But taking down my father’s organization was going to mean casualties. And that’s something your father was never going to allow to happen if he ever got wind of it. So I needed to distract him while I worked.”

 

“ _ You _ called in the threat on us,” Jules realizes. “You sent hitmen after us… and then you warned us they were coming. That was all you.”

 

“No one was supposed to die,” Helena whispers, the words bordering on manic. “Your father was good to me once. I never wanted to hurt his children.”

 

“Well, you failed at that.”

 

“I know,” Helena replies. “I did manage to completely dismantle my father’s mob from the inside and disappear with the family money, destroying any chance they had to rebuild. But I ignored the very worst part of his legacy.”

 

“And what was that?” 

 

“Me.”

 

Jules freezes.

 

“That’s why I  _ hate  _ you, Julianna Queen,” Helena says, anger vibrating her voice. “Because you made it clear that I am the worst of my father’s legacy. I  _ am _ my father.”

 

“What are you  _ talking _ about?” Jules demands. 

 

“I loved a boy, too, once,” Helena says. She makes her way further down the stairs, drawing closer to Jules. Her whole face is a study in pain and regret, the sort that someone has never learned to live with. “My Michael.”

 

“I know,” Jules tells her. “Your father had him killed.”

 

“He did,” Helena confirms. “In a strange twist of fate, it was your boyfriend’s uncle who killed him, but I didn’t know that until after he died. I have spent my entire life trying to destroy everything my father ever created to bring Michael justice. But in doing that, I turned around and did the same thing to you that he did to me.”

 

“You don’t hate me,” Jules says, not moving, even as Helena got closer. If she can get close enough, she can tear her crossbow from her hand to even the playing field. “Not really. You hate yourself because I made you see your father in yourself.”

 

“Maybe it’s inescapable,” Helena says. “We’re all our father’s children in the end.” She abruptly stops, just out of reach of Jules’ chain, the chill back in her eyes. “I wonder… How much are you yours?”

 

Jules frowns. “What do you mean?”

 

“Your father had a list once,” Helena says. “Do you?”

 

“You  _ are _ my list,” Jules informs her with vehemence, taking a step towards her, her fingers tightening on the chain, needing to  _ show _ her just how much she’s been working towards this very moment.

 

“Good,” Helena replies, falling back a step with a smirk. “Time to cross it off, then?”

 

Jules stops. “You’re turning yourself in?” she asks. “Pretty sure walking into a police station made a bit more sense than all of this.”

 

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m not going back to jail,” Helena replies. “I’m giving you the closure I never got and ending my father’s legacy for good.”

 

“You want me to kill you,” Jules whispers, her hands dropping, the end of the chain clinking against the floor. “That’s why you’re here.” 

 

“At first I thought if I could just destroy you, I wouldn’t have to face becoming my father,” Helena tells her. “That’s why I sent Patrice after you. But murder is a cycle that never ends. You’re always destroying the lives of someone’s loved ones. That’s something I can’t live with anymore. And I don’t want to.”

 

How many times over the last three years had she thought about killing Jackson’s murderer? How many times had she vowed that exact thing in the name of justice? Too many to count. But it had always been righteous in her head, something done in battle. It was never an  _ execution _ . 

 

Now that Helena’s offering her life up on a silver platter, Jules finds herself falling back a step, shaking her head. Maybe once upon a time she would have gladly taken the offering, knowing the kill was justified no matter  _ how _ she got it. But she’s not that person anymore. Her grief doesn’t control her like it once did, doesn’t dictate her moves. She’s learned to walk alongside it without becoming the embodiment of it. 

 

That’s something Helena’s never done. 

 

“No,” Jules says. “If you want to give me closure, you can do it by going back to prison. Jackson would never want me to become you. And I don’t want to either. The best way I can honor his memory is by living a life he’d have wanted for me. By being happy. And I can’t do that if I make my life about exacting vengeance against you.”

 

Annoyance and anger skew Helena’s masked face and she raises her crossbow again, this time aiming it directly at Jules. 

 

“Pity,” she spits out. “I expected more from Oliver Queen’s little girl.” 

 

“He’ll be proud of me,” Jules replies, the truth of that resonating in her. “But then maybe that’s the difference between us.”

 

“Maybe.” Helena shrugs. “Or maybe you just need a little more incentive.”

 

Jules prepares herself to launch out of the way, her mind already jumping ahead to what will happen if she rolled forward, how she’ll have to move her chain to maybe wrap around Helena’s ankle, or wrist to get rid of her crossbow… 

 

But Jules isn’t what Helena aims at.

 

Her crossbow shifts to something behind her.

 

Everything screeches to a stop as that realization hits Jules. The air sticks to her like molasses as she turns, unable to even conjure a possibility of what she’s aiming at, too horrified to think much less  _ act _ . Not that she could, because the air is too thick and she’s too slow. 

 

The click of the bolt shooting sounds like a thunderbolt.

 

She can’t move fast enough, can’t  _ speak _ fast enough; she can do nothing but scream.

 

Alex stands a few steps behind her, wide-eyed and pale, frozen in place.

 

“ _ No _ !”

 

But they’re not the only ones there.

 

A blur barrels into Alex right as the sickening thwack of the bolt connects.

 

“No!” Jules shouts again, scrambling for them as Will crashes into Alex, sending them careening across the floor. “No, no, no!”

 

A fast-growing pool of blood spreads beneath her boyfriend and brother, a black fathomless pool under the ugly emergency lights. Who’s it coming from? Who was hit? No, no,  _ no _ , she can’t lose them, either of them, she  _ can’t _ . God help her, she wouldn’t survive losing  _ both _ of them.

 

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Jules sobs, skidding across the flood, falling to her knees at their sides, shoving them apart in her urgency to see who was hit. “Oh god, oh god…”

 

It takes her a second to really register what she’s seeing.

 

She’s never seen such a twisted look of pain on someone’s face before, not even on Jackson’s.

 

And never on her brother’s.

 

“I got you, Vato,” Alex says, his voice uneven, but strong, stronger than anything Jules has ever heard. “Try not to move, man.”

 

The world suddenly dips, the floor falling out from under her as she gets sucked out of her body. The strangest out-of-body feeling she’s ever experienced pulls her under and Jules watches from afar as she blindly grasps at Alex’s arm, needing to make sure he wasn’t hit, too. But he’s fine, even though she’s spreading Will’s blood all over him.

 

She’s sitting in a puddle of her brother’s blood.

 

That rockets her back into her body with so much force it knocks the air from her lungs.

 

“Oh  _ god _ ,” Jules chokes as Alex pulls off his tie, jacket and shirt, not even bothering with the buttons, shoving all over against Will’s wound to slow the bleeding. She tries to help, but she’s fucking useless right now, only capable of watching. “Will,” she whispers, her voice cracking, “God, Will, I’m so sorry. I love you. I love you. Please don’t die on me. I can’t do this again. God, Alex, please tell me he’s gonna be okay? Please, please tell me he’s-”

 

“He’s got a chance,” Alex replies, but his voice is grave, and he doesn’t even look at her as he says it. She doesn’t have to ask to know his odds aren’t great. A horrified keen wrenches its way out of her chest. Alex shakes with effort - to keep the pressure on, to keep himself calm. “He needs a hospital now, but I can take care of him ‘til the ambulance gets here. I got him, okay? You need to-”

 

“No, I’m not leaving him,” Jules snaps. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

“It’s your turn to trust me, baby,” Alex says, finally looking at her. The intensity in his eyes could shatter the world if it wanted to. “I got this, Jules. Your duty right now is to keep us safe. You hear me?”

 

It’s the echoing of her earlier words spoken back to her that has her hearing him. 

 

She does trust him. She trusts him with everything.

 

Jules nods. 

 

Blinking tears from her eyes, she turns back to Will. He’s in too much pain to manage words, but he doesn’t need to say anything. She can read everything in his gaze. A ragged sob falls from her as she leans over to kiss his brow, smoothing her bloody hand through his hair as she whispers how much she loves him. 

 

His love for her shines in his eyes and she takes strength from it.

 

Jules pulls out her phone, dials 911, and puts it on speakerphone for Alex to talk to them.

 

His hands are busy.

 

A million memories filt through Jules’ mind as she tries to stop another desperate sob, but she fails as images assault her. Will leaning over the fence at a ballgame to hug her when she was so little she’d scarcely been out of diapers. Will sneaking her gory comics when she’d been too young for them. Will picking her up at dance practice in middle school and taking the long way home just because she asked him to. Will, who has always been there, who has always been her staunchest ally and closest friend.

 

There’s no one in the world she has ever relied on more than her big brother, no one who has meant more to her. And the thought of losing him brings with it the kind of terror she could not have imagined the depth of before this.

 

“Not the incentive I meant,” Helena says behind her, “but somehow I think it’s probably just as motivating.”

 

Jules sees red. 

 

Her blood boils, her vision blurring as she stands and turns to face the woman who killed her lover and shot both her brothers. She’s a storm of righteous punishment and vengeance, fury radiating off her in palpable waves. She’s not Julianna Queen, not right now. No, she’s a cyclone brought to life in the blood of the people she loves.

 

She is Tempest.

 

“ _ There _ we go!” Helena crows with a macabre grin. Jules grips the chain in her fist, twisting it until it doesn’t matter that her fingers are slick with Will’s blood. “I knew you were under there somewhere,” she taunts. “The Hood’s daughter. It’s good to meet you.”

 

Jules’ response is to rush her. She’s fast, faster than Helena is ready for, and the other woman’s eyes widen in delight surprise just as Jules whips the chain. A sharp crack slices through the air as it strikes Helena’s face. Her head snaps to the side with a resounding smack and she stumbles, barely catching herself from falling, a stream of blood pouring from her mouth.

 

She laughs before spitting out a shattered tooth. The grin Helena gives her is coated in red.

 

“They’re better than you,” Jules hisses, whipping the chain again. 

 

This time it hits Helena in the shoulder hard enough to cut through her leathers. The other woman cries out in pain, but it does nothing to stop Jules as she whips the chain again, this time slicing across her thigh. She doesn’t fight back. She just takes it, and that only fuels Jules’ rage. It rattles her words as she whips the chain across Helena’s arm, coating her in her own blood as she falls against a nearby wall. 

 

It’s not enough.

 

“Both of them!” Jules yells. “ _ All  _ of them. My brothers and Jackson and Alex.”

 

“The innocent are always the first to go,” Helena says, her voice wet. “They’re too soft for the likes of us.”

 

She’s wrong, she’s so very wrong. They’re the strong ones, they always have been, and that Helena tried to take them away from her… Will’s on the floor behind her and she doesn’t even know if he’s alive anymore.

 

“My brother,” Jules seethes. “My  _ brother _ .”

 

She flips her wrist, wrapping the chain around her knuckles. Jules closes the distances between them in two quick strides and punches Helena dead in the face. The force of it sends Helena’s head snapping back into a piece of framed art, splintering the protective glass on it. A deep, broken laugh comes from the woman and Jules grits her teeth, punching her again, as hard as she can. When her head crashes into the glass this time, it shatters, sending shards falling to the ground and into her long black hair. It doesn’t stop Jules, and she hits her again, and again, not stopping even when blood starts to stain the painting.

 

It’s only when the chain falls loose, revealing Jules’ own bloody knuckles, that she stumbles back.

 

Helena’s face is warped beyond repair as she slides down the wall, barely stopping herself from crashing into the ground. The horror of what she’s done doesn’t pierce the veil of red in front of Jules’ eyes, doesn’t let her feel the wild pounding of her heart, or hear the deadly silence outside her gasps for air. 

 

There’s nothing but the numbness of anger, of grief, of pain.

 

“ _ Both _ of your brothers,” Helena reminds her, the words garbled by the ugly smile on her face. “I got both of them. Though the little one got away with barely a scratch, didn’t he? I can fix that. Right after I go after your sister. Maybe your mom.”

 

Jules roars as the images of her sister and mother fill her head, their bodies broken and lifeless, and Nate, a bullet hitting him somewhere she can’t save him from.

 

“No!”

 

She lets the end of the chain drop and it lands with a wet smack on the ground before she whips it overhead, twirling it before slamming it down with a vicious shout right against Helena’s neck. 

 

The blow sends The Huntress to the ground with a wild mix of laughter and tears.

 

“Do it,” Helena goads. “ _ Do it _ . Take the crossbow and finish this. What do you think I’m going to do if you let me go, huh? You think I’ll let your precious family live?”

 

Jules doesn’t even think about it as she drops the chain and grabs the discarded crossbow. She tugs Helena to her feet and with a shaking grip, holds the tip of the bolt right to the center of her neck as she leans in close. 

 

“I should make it slow,” Jules hisses. “I should take my time and make you  _ suffer _ .”

 

Helena laughs again, an ugly, mulchy sound as more blood leaks from her mouth, coating her chin, dripping down on the crossbow. 

 

“All I’ve done is suffer,” she says, leaning into the arrow point. It punctures her skin, bringing up a tiny bead of fresh, bright red blood. “For thirty years, I’ve  _ suffered _ . There’s nothing you can do to me that would hurt more than what I’ve been through. End it. Give your Jackson and your William the justice they deserve. Take your vengeance.”

 

Jules’ hand starts to shake even more and she grits her teeth, her eyes falling down to the point where the boltpoint is embedded in Helena’s neck.

 

It’d be so easy, to just  _ squeeze _ , to let go…

 

“Do it,” Helena whispers. Jules’ finger tightens on the trigger. “ _ Do it _ .”

 

Glass shattering pierces the moment. The skylight above the staircase explodes, a dark green blur falling through it, landing in a crouch at the top of the landing.

 

The Arrow.

 

It takes him less than a few seconds to rush down the stairs, quickly evaluating the scene. When he see what’s happening, understands it, he freezes, the tension in the room skyrocketing.

 

“Jules,” he whispers. 

 

He’s a few feet away from them, but close enough that when she looks at him, she sees his eyes widening at the carnage she’s wrought. Helena sags against the wall, masked and bloodied, beaten, and it’s clear the only thing keeping her from dropping is the sharp point of the bolt that tents the delicate skin at her throat.

 

Jules looks back at the broken woman before her. 

 

She hasn’t decided if she’s going to pull the trigger yet.

 

“Jules,” her father says. “Honey, you don’t want to do this.”

 

From the corner of her eye she sees him pause, listening to whatever her mother is saying on the other end of the comm in his ear. It’s a momentary distraction, though, as she focuses back on Helena, who watches her with an eager calm. The Huntress’ lips quirk as she whispers, “Do it.”

 

She wants to, she realizes. She  _ needs _ to. Getting justice for all the evil this woman has left in her path - for Jackson and Will and Nate - it needs to be done. Her parents will understand if she does it. They’ll forgive her. She knows that. It’s not as if she’d be the first killer in the family, after all.

 

“Do it,” Helena breathes, pressing forward. “Kill me, Jules.”

 

_ She wants to _ .

 

But indecision roars inside her, something stopping her. She stares into Helena’s eyes and sees all the pain she’s caused, sees how much better the world would be without her in it, sees  _ justice _ … 

 

“Jules…” her father whispers. “Honey,  _ please _ .”

 

_ Pull the trigger _ .

 

A click sounds and Jules looks over to see Oliver holding out the comm device from his ear.

 

“... ver, you have to do it,” her mother says, the words frantic and desperate. “Kill her before our baby does. She’s been through too much, I don’t want her to have to live with taking a life, too. You need to shoot Helena, Oliver.  _ Shoot her _ . You have to kill her. Do it, now. Do you hear me? Please. For Jules.”

 

It isn’t Helena or her father that makes the decision for her, or Alex or Will, or even the memory of Jackson.

 

It’s her mother.

 

“Mom,” Jules chokes out, her eyes finding her father’s. Even from behind his mask she can see the shadows of long-borne pain.

 

“You don’t want to live with having taken a life, Jules,” he says. “And Jackson wouldn’t want that for you either.” She lets out a sob from deep inside her, her finger wavering. “Please, Jules. Don’t do this.”

 

She wavers, for a split second, but then it’s over.

 

With a sobbed gasp, Jules drops the crossbow and stumbles back, covering her face.

 

“Maybe you are your father’s daughter after all,” Helena says, pulling Jules’ eyes to her. “I almost admire you.”

 

“Shut up,” Jules whispers, voice shaking. She can’t hear anymore from her. She  _ can’t _ . “Shut. Up.”

 

“Maybe it is better this way,” Helena continues, talking over her before turning to Oliver. “For what it’s worth, Oliver, I never meant to hurt your family. And I hope your boy makes it.”

 

Her father pales. “What?”

 

She doesn’t bother answering. Instead, moving with a grace and speed that is shocking considering the beating she just went through, Helena drops to the ground and grabs her crossbow. She has it in-hand in the blink of an eye and aims it right at Jules…

 

A green arrow flies through the air before she can so much as touch the trigger, landing in her chest with a solid thud. Her eyes widen in shock, the crossbow slipping from her grasp, clattering to the ground as she looks down. 

 

The barest hint of a smile pulls at her lips before she falls.

 

It’s so abrupt, and all Jules can do is stand there, staring at her, a sudden torrent of nausea gripping her.

 

“Jules,” her father says, and then he’s at her side, cupping her face, urging her to look at him.

 

“Daddy?” she whispers, the emotion whirling through her before she remembers Will. “Oh god.”

 

“You’re okay, honey,” he promises, pulling her to him. “You did the right thing. This isn’t your fault.”

 

“No… Dad,” she sobs, grabbing onto her father’s suit, gripping him so tight it hurts. “Daddy, Will’s hurt really badly.”

 

“What?” he breathes, panic filling his eyes. It mirrors everything living inside Jules’ heart, echoed clearly in her mother’s voice over the comm, even if she doesn’t understand the words. “ _ Where _ ?” 

 

Jules starts at the demand and looks around, trying to register where she’s at. She’d moved the fight farther away from them than she realized and she jerks away from her father, darting around the corner. They aren’t where she left them. Terror seizes her and she runs to where they had been, heart pounding, a hopeless shout on her lips.

 

_ There _ .

 

Oliver’s close behind her, close enough that he nearly stumbles into her when she stops.

 

“ _ Oh _ ,” she breathes. 

 

There’s a trail of blood across the marble floor, leading to a little alcove off to the side. She has enough state of mind to realize that Will’s still alive, and that Alex is still trying to slow his bleeding, but it will only be later that she remembers the way Alex’s shoulders fall in relief when he sees her. But right now, all she sees is red. It’s  _ everywhere _ . God, there’s so much blood, a river of it, it seems. Jules finds herself panicking because there’s so much.  _ Too much _ . The last time she saw that much blood was the night Jackson died.

 

But this is  _ Will _ and she can’t lose him. 

 

She  _ can’t _ .

 

“He’s alive,” Alex says as if he can read her thoughts. Oliver approaches them, Jules right behind him. “Ambulance is three minutes out.”

 

Oliver nods, crouching next to Will, wincing with tears in his eyes when he sees where the arrow hit him. He knows from experience how bad a gut wound like that is. 

 

“Hey, buddy,” he says softly, touching his boy’s very pale cheek. “You’re having a bad day, aren’t you? I’m here now, okay? I’m here and I’m not gonna leave your side.”

 

Jules sits right next to him, grasping Will’s hand in hers, not feeling the cooling blood on the floor or the shards of glass that dig into her.

 

“Is he…?” She looks up at her boyfriend, letting him see every single emotion twisting her up. “Alex, is he gonna…?” Jules stops and shakes her head. She can’t even say the words. “I need you to tell me.”

 

Alex nods, but he doesn’t answer right away. Instead he studies her for a moment.

 

“ _ Alex _ .”

 

“I dunno,” he finally answers, his voice shaking until he starts talking more, and then it becomes clinical. “It’s left-sided, so that’s good. If it missed his intestines then the immediate concern is bleeding out. He’s gonna need surgery and a blood transfusion. But I’m not gonna lie to you, chica. This kinda injury is scary as hell and a lot of things can go wrong. We’re doin’ everything we can and the emergency people en route know exactly what’s wrong. They know he’s one of their own, too. We’re all gonna do everything we can to get him through this. You got me?”

 

It’s an information overload and every single bit of it terrifies her, but she nods anyway, grateful that he has the strength to be honest through this. It can’t be easy to give voice to the idea that her brother - his best friend - might die right in front of them.

 

Alex’s lips pinch together, and she can see his own fear and pain, and with what she hopes is a smile, she gives him a little nod, doing her best to help shoulder some of it with him.

 

Will’s fingers squeeze hers and they all look back at him. He’s conscious, just barely, but it’s a good thing that he’s awake, right? Except that he’s struggling to speak and his awareness comes and goes on a whim.

 

“Bethy,” he manages, eyes finding hers. “Bethy.”

 

“She’s not here, Will,” Jules replies. “She’s home, safe. You don’t need to worry about her.”

 

His whole face is pinched with pain as he shakes his head. He grips her hand with startling strength, and it’s enough to send a fresh wave of terror through her because she hadn’t thought he had this much in him.

 

“Jules, you gotta promise,” he insists, fierceness sharpening his gaze. “You gotta be there for Bethy.”

 

“Well, so do you,” Jules retorts, the words cracking as tears stream down her face. “You’re not gonna die, Will. I won’t allow it.”

 

He manages a pained smile, but his determination goes nowhere. “Promise, Jules.  _ Promise _ .”

 

Jules nods. “She’s family,” she says, kissing the back of his hand. She doesn’t taste the blood covering his skin. “She needs you. She’s always gonna need you. But she’s family, no matter what.”

 

He sags in relief, muttering his thanks before his eyes slip shut. He nods for a moment, face twisting in pain again, and then he opens his eyes again. It’s like they weigh too much, though, like everything is too much as he slowly turns toward their father. His skin grows more clammy, and he’s pale, so very pale, his breathing starting to pick up, becoming too fast. 

 

“Dad?” he asks, sounding so small, so young. “Hurts.”

 

“I know, buddy, I know,” Oliver whispers, kissing his son’s brow. “You’re doing good, though. You’re so strong. I’m proud of you, okay? Your mom would be, too. And Felicity.”

 

“F’lis?” he asks, the name slurring off his tongue.

 

“She’s on her way to the hospital right now,” Oliver promises. “She’s gonna meet us there. You just gotta hold on to see her, okay? Just hold on.” He strokes Will’s cheek, glancing up at Alex. “How’s his pulse?”

 

“Weaker than I’d like,” Alex replies. “EMTs gonna be here any second. You know what happens if they find you like this, right?”

 

“I don’t care,” Oliver says. “There’s no way I’m leaving my son right now.”

 

“Don’t blame you for a second. But maybe lose the mask, yeah?”

 

Oliver pauses for only a beat before nodding his agreement. He pushes his hood back and yanks his mask off, tucking it in a pocket before wiping off the grease paint from around his eyes as best he can. He unzips his jacket before hesitating. He could leave it on, but anyone with eyes would be able to see he’s The Arrow, and that’s a whole lot of questions none of them have the time or desire to answer if they run into the wrong person. But he can’t just leave it here, either, and he’s absolutely not leaving.

 

“I’ll take it,” Jules offers, looking up at her dad. “When they get Will, I’ll hold onto it.”

 

It’s better than nothing.

 

Oliver nods again before yanking it off, handing it to her.

 

What happens next is a blur, both in the moment and in Jules’ memory later.

 

EMTs rush in. The first team on the scene know both Will and Alex and it clearly means a lot to them to save her brother’s life. Letting them take him away is one of the hardest things Jules will have to do, though, despite knowing he’s in the best hands possible. But the idea that she’s letting go of her brother’s hand and that she might never get to hold it again damn near destroys her.

 

They let Oliver ride in the ambulance. One of the EMTs discreetly hands him some wipes for his eyes, loaning him a jacket that Jules will never quite remember the color of, but knows for certain it doesn’t match his green leathers.

 

Room is scarce, and they have work to do, so she and Alex follow behind in his car. He drives like he might as well have a siren and a light atop his truck, but they make it there in one piece very shortly after Will does. 

 

Jules doesn’t realize she’s shaking until she jerks the door open and sprints for the hospital doors, only for Alex to stop her. After she damn near takes his head off, he calms her enough to get her to put on a sweatshirt he has in the backseat. She wraps her arms around herself, dipping her face into the collar of the sweatshirt, breathing Alex in as she waits for him to put on a wrinkled shirt from the firehouse. 

 

Neither of them comment on how much of Will’s blood covers both of them.

 

Without a word, he laces his fingers with hers and they both rush in to find her family.

 

It isn’t hard. Her mom is standing in the middle of the waiting room off the ER, sobbing hysterically as a shell-shocked Oliver holds onto her, so hard his fingers are bone-white. Ellie sits nearby, white as a ghost, staring blankly at the floor, her book bag at her feet. Nate’s curled up in a ball on a sofa, bottom lip trembling, looking like he’s trying to shut the world out.

 

The sight of them sends her mind into overdrive and she instinctively looks for Will, like he’ll just be standing against the wall, ready to offer his support to all of them, because that’s what he does.

 

That’s who he is, who he’s always been.

 

But he’s not there.

 

“Where is he?” Jules asks, her voice hoarse. “Is he…?”

 

“They rushed him off to surgery,” Oliver tells her as Felicity looks up, turning in her husband’s arms. “It’ll be a few hours.”

 

“Oh.”

 

That’s a good thing, right? It has to be.” She doesn’t realize she’s squeezing Alex’s fingers in her own until he leans in to whisper, “I got you, cariño.”

 

It’s only then that she realizes how much damage she did to her own hands. His touch is so gentle, but the light squeeze reminds her what she’d done. 

 

Her swollen knuckles are garrish against his own blood-stained hand, the indentation where the chain had wrapped around them still evident. The skin is split open, raw and bloodied. She absently wonders if they’ll scar. Part of her hopes they do.

 

Grasping anything hurts right now, even Alex, but she can’t let him go. She doesn’t want to. But she does loosen her death grip on him just enough so that she isn’t cutting off blood circulation, giving him a little nod. 

 

He gives her a tired smile, nodding back, just as her mother leaves her father’s arms and pulls her into a bone-crushing hug.

 

“You did the right thing,” Felicity whispers into her ear. Her face is wet with tears, and it only has more of her own burning Jules’ eyes as she sinks into the comfort of her mother’s arms. “You did, baby. I’m proud of you, okay? I know that was hard.”

 

Jules nods rapidly. “Yeah,” she replies, inhaling sharply. Her mom’s familiar scent floods her senses and the floodgates open, a sob falling out. “I need Will to be okay.”

 

Felicity tightens her hold. “Me too,” she says. She reaches out, gripping Alex’s hand. Jules pulls back to see him furrow his brow in question, his mouth opening - probably to ask if she needs him to get her anything, if he can do anything - but her mom gives him a watery smile before he can. “Thank you. For being there.”

 

“He took that bolt for me, ma’am,” Alex says, blinking as a thin layer of tears fill his eyes. “He dove right into me to save my life.”

 

It’s only then that it really hits her how hard this is for Alex, too. He’d been so strong while tending to Will, fighting to keep him in one piece until the EMTs got there, staying calm even as his best friend bled out in front of him.

 

Jules pulls away from her mother and pushes herself into Alex’s arms, burrowing into his chest. He damn near falls into her, pressing his face against the crown of her head, breathing her in as he clings to her just as hard.

 

Felicity touches his arm, her tear-filled smile never wavering. “And you returned the favor by doing everything you could to help save his life right after,” she says. Jules nods against Alex’s chest in agreement. “I’m sure he’s grateful for that. I know I am.”

 

“Me too,” Jules whispers, her voice muffled. 

 

She pulls back to look up at him, and they’re so close their noses touch, her lips brushing his. Her tears just won’t freaking  _ stop _ , but she doesn’t try to control them either. She needs to cry or she’s going to  _ scream _ . Plus, she has Alex, just as much as he has her, and that gives her more comfort than anything else could right now.

 

They share a soft, chaste kiss, salty and coppery, but neither of them care. It’s warmth, comfort, and support, and they use that to hold each other up when the kiss ends, pressing their foreheads together.

 

Hours pass.

 

The Diggles show up, bringing a change of clothes for everyone, offering Oliver and Felicity in particular the solidarity of a near-lifelong friendship. 

 

Jules cleans up. Alex helps her wrap her hands, pressing a gentle kiss to each knuckle, and she winds up curled up on his lap for several hours. She uses his chest as a pillow, but she doesn’t sleep, and they don’t really talk. They don’t need to. She draws strength from his presence and she’s so grateful for it.

 

Police come and go, asking questions and filling out reports. Felicity coaxes Nate into laying his head on her lap. He cries, harder than Jules has ever seen him cry, before he falls asleep to the gentle strokes of his mother’s fingers through his hair. Sara sits next to Ellie in silence, at one point reaching for her hand. But Ellie pulls away the instant they touch, leaving Sara to retract, looking lost and helpless.

 

Oliver steps away for a moment to call David, Will’s stepfather, and comes back with tear-strewn cheeks he’d clearly been trying to keep to himself. David and Beth will be by later, he says. David doesn’t want to wake the nine-year-old until he knows what he can tell her. There’s no use in terrifying her when she can’t see him, and it’s going to be a while before they know anything definitive anyway.

 

And it is a while.

 

The wait is interminable, and it feels like forever before the doctors come out to give them an update. In reality it’s only been about six hours, but the night has dragged on like no other, and by the time the doctors appear, Jules swears it’s been at least a full day.

 

“He made it through surgery” is the first thing out of the doctor’s mouth.

 

Jules sobs so hard she misses most of what he says next.

 

His prognosis is good, better than all of the doomsday thoughts that’d circled through Jules’ head for those hours when they didn’t know. He’s going to be in pain for a while and he’s got a long road of recovery ahead of him. He has drains in his midsection for all the blood that’d emptied into his abdominal cavity, and he has both physical and occupational therapy to look forward to when he’s more healed. It will be months before he’s able to be back to work, maybe as much as half a year, and in the meantime he’ll probably need help with everyday things after he’s released until he’s given full clearance to do anything. 

 

As daunting as all of that is, Jules doesn’t really care right now. All that matters is that he’s okay. Surgery went well and barring any complications, he’s going to make it. That’s all that matters.

 

They can see him in another hour, the doctor informs them, but he’ll need to be in the hospital for at least a week, if everything goes to plan.

 

Jules is an agitated mess until she can go in to see her brother, right up until she gets to the door of his hospital room. And then she freezes, because she’s not sure what to expect. She saw him bleeding out all over the floor of the museum during her exhibit, a bolt piercing his abdomen, for God’s sake, but this…

 

This is somehow more terrifying.

 

Until Alex takes her hand.

 

Will’s awake. He’s completely drugged out of his mind, but he’s awake. And  _ alive _ . Jules bites her lip to keep her relieved sobs to herself, not wanting to upset him right now, not looking like he just got hit by a bus. That sure doesn’t stop her from pressing kisses all over his forehead, though. He’d scared the hell out of her, out of all of them.

 

“So,” Will slurs, looking at her with thin awareness. “You two had a real memorable first date.”

 

Jules laughs, the sound dissolving in and out of cries as she shakes her head at him. Of  _ course _ that’s the first thing he would say. Alex chuckles behind her, resting his hand against her back.

 

“Yeah,” she whispers, wiping tears from her cheeks. “I guess we did.”

 

“That’s good,” Will says. “Get the hard stuff outta the way. Make it through this, you’re gonna make it through anything.”

 

“You know,” Jules says, glancing back. Alex smiles at her and she returns it with everything inside her. “I think we might.”


	24. Chapter 24

 

Jules and Alex don’t talk about where to go after the doctor shoos them out and Will orders everyone to get some sleep. 

 

It just happens.

 

The idea of getting any rest after what they just went through is unthinkable, but by the time they get to Alex’s house, exhaustion has settled firmly into Jules’ bones. She barely makes it through a much-needed shower and into one of Alex’s shirts before she passes out on his bed on top of the covers. 

 

She somehow winds up beneath the blankets, though, drawn to Alex and the comfort of his arms.

 

They sleep until nearly noon.

 

It’s actually the ringing of Alex’s phone that first alerts Jules to the world outside her dreams, and it isn’t until Alex is reaching for the phone that fear slams into her. It’s been a long time since they were at the hospital, long enough for things to go wrong after a major surgery. 

 

The good news is that Alex connects with Will fast enough that her sense of terror almost immediately fizzles into relief.

 

Jules tugs on his arm. “Put it on speakerphone.”

 

Alex nods, pulling the phone away and tapping the screen. 

 

Her brother’s voice fills the room. “... telling you, this nurse is really hot, man.”

 

Jules snorts, shaking her head, but she can’t keep from smiling because that definitely sounds like her brother. Thank  _ God _ . She’s never in her life been so happy to hear about him chasing after a girl.

 

“That my sister?” Will asks. 

 

All the judgment from before is gone, leaving nothing but warm acceptance. Jules grins, scooting closer to Alex, who wraps himself around her as much as he can with a satisfied sigh as she leans into him.

 

“Yup, it’s me,” Jules replies. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Like I got shot,” Will replies bluntly. “But I’m still breathing. And they’ve got me on morphine, so it could be a lot worse.”

 

“It really could,” Alex says. “It almost was. ‘Cause you risked your life to save mine.”

 

The weight of that simple statement turns the moment somber.

 

“I know,” Will says. “But I still wouldn’t have regretted it. You’re my brother, man. If someone takes a shot at you, I’m gonna get in the way every single time.”

 

“You’re quite the hero, you know,” Jules says, “for someone who doesn’t want to be on Team Arrow.”

 

“Ha!” Will laughs, before the sound disappears into a pained whimper. “Okay, maybe I need to not use my stomach muscles so much yet. Or at all. Damn, that hurt.”

 

“Gonna be bad for a while,” Alex says, earning a muted, “ _ Wow, thanks _ ,” from Will, but Alex ignores him. “You need anything? We can be there in an hour.”

 

“Nah,” Will replies. “I’m good. The chief’s coming by in a bit, probably to tell me exactly how long I’m gonna be benched for. Then David’s bringing Beth. Felicity went to get get me some stuff from home since it looks like I’ll be here for a week or two. And Dad went to go grab some non-hospital food because I cannot live on soup broth, rolls, and sugar-free Jello. It’s busy here and I really do need to rest. You guys should take some time for yourselves. Have a second date. Hang out. Do couple things.” His tone is teasing, but Jules can hear the genuine undertones. “Swing by in a few days when it’s died down a bit here. Maybe I’ll have made some progress with this nurse I can fill you in on.”

 

Jules makes a face at the phone. “You got  _ shot _ last night and all you’re focused on is hitting on a nurse?”

 

“Damn right,” Will confirms. “If this has taught me anything it’s that almost losing your life has a way of bringing things into focus. You gotta live your life.”

 

“Oh,” she replies, letting the weight of those words hang in the air.

 

“You two had some close calls last night, too,” he adds. “I’m glad you sorted things through so you can be there for each other. That’s important.”

 

It occurs to her that even with so many people going in and out of Will’s hospital room today, there’s only one person he really wants. And it’s the one person who isn’t there. The cute nurse is a distraction from what he’s missing, the sort of connection he’d almost had, once upon a time. One that disappeared from his life after a series of terrible choices.

 

Will had made his fair share of them, but it doesn’t matter to Jules. To her, the blame for everything falling apart, leaving Will heartbroken, lies solely at the feet of Amelia Prescott. 

 

She never deserved him anyhow. 

 

But Will should have that connection he craves, Jules thinks. He deserves it more than most. He’s one of the best men she’s ever known. And she wishes he had someone in his life who knew that, who loved him as much as he loved them.

 

She can’t make that happen for him, though, so she offers him what she can.

 

“It is important,” Jules says. “And I’m glad you and I sorted through things so we can be there for each other, too.”

 

There’s a huff of laughter and she can imagine his soft smile perfectly. He knows exactly what she’s thinking. They’ve always been on the same wavelength and she’s so grateful not only that he’s okay, but that they’re back on familiar ground in their own relationship. 

 

“Sometimes I screw up,” he admits. “But I’m always gonna be there for you, Jules. Just like you are for me.”

 

“Yeah.” She grins. “I know. Love you, Will. Get some rest.”

 

“Love you guys, too,” Will replies. “Take care of each other.”

 

“No question of that,” Alex assures him. “Love you, man. If Javi visits, keep him away from your nurse.”

 

“Ha, no doubt. Bye, guys.”

 

“Bye,” they echo back as the line disconnects.

 

“He’s okay.” Jules sighs in relief, wrapping an arm across Alex’s midsection and kissing his shoulder as he pulls her closer. 

 

“He’s okay,” Alex agrees. “And so are we.”

 

“We’re a whole lot more than okay,” she counters, turning her face up to his, her fingers drifting over his stubbled jaw. She’d unwrapped her knuckles before her shower and now her hand looks even worse in the light of day. Bruises discolor the skin, small cuts cradling large gashes, but she doesn’t mind them. It fits somehow, she thinks, with everything laid bare between them.

 

The smile he gives her confirms that, like seeing the sun rise after the darkest night.

 

“Yeah,” Alex whispers, cupping her face, tugging her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

 

It’s more than that, though, more than surviving last night, more than them finally finding the same page in their relationship. 

 

He’s quiet, his fingers move against her scalp, his thumb brushing over her temple, almost like he knows she’s trying to sort her thoughts out. He knows her,  _ sees _ her, more than she ever gave him credit for.

 

“Thank you,” Jules says.

 

Alex’s eyebrows shoot up. “You don’t gotta thank me for looking after Will,” he says. “I’m a firefighter. That’s in my DNA.”

 

“No, not for that,” she replies. “Well, not  _ only _ for that.”

 

“For what, then?” 

 

“For helping me not become her.”

 

Alex pulls back so he can see her more fully, his brow furrowing in question.

 

“I’ve been barely coping for the longest time,” Jules confesses. “Holding on too tight to what I lost, like if I loosened my grip on my grief I might lose Jackson completely. But the truth is that he’s always going to be with me in some way. Loving him and losing him molded me into who I am today. But I let it define me, for the longest time. I was just this living embodiment of grief and pain and vengeance. That was all that mattered. Until I met you.

 

“You didn’t pull me out of it,” she clarifies. “It’s nothing so cliche as that. You didn’t  _ save _ me. But you pushed me to want more for myself. You didn’t let me settle for less. It was you that made me want to save myself.”

 

His face softens with understanding. And love.

 

“I think I could have become Helena, eventually,” Jules whispers. He stiffens, but he doesn’t interrupt her. “She wanted me to kill her, to end her suffering for her. The scary part is that if she’d found me at a different time, I probably would have. Without hesitation, if just because she killed Jackson, because she shot Nate and Will. Because she even thought about hurting you. But you helped show me that I have something she didn’t: the strength to change, to be better, to move forward.”

 

Alex smiles, a thin layer of tears filling his eyes that he blinks away. Does he really not know how much he’s changed her life?

 

“I started this looking for a distraction,” Jules says. “Instead I got the opposite. You gave me focus. I didn’t exactly make it easy…” That earns a chuckle from him. “Because I didn’t think it was what I wanted. But it was actually the best thing that ever happened to me. All of my memories of being in love were stained with what it was like to suffer through loss. You changed that.”

 

He freezes, his eyes widening. He searches her face, looking for confirmation of what she’s saying as he whispers, “What?”

 

“I’m so in love with you, Alex,” Jules says, cupping his cheek, stroking his face with her thumb. “And it’s the best thing I’ve ever felt in my whole life.”

 

The stunned, hopeful look on his face is so open, so vulnerable that Jules’ heart trips all over itself, a thrill soaring through her veins. This is real,  _ so _ real, the kind of thing most people only find once or twice in a lifetime. She looks at him now and she can’t understand how she ever thought this could be just a fling. 

 

It’s not. 

 

It’s late nights laughing over tv and early mornings yawning over breakfast. It’s fighting side-by-side and sometimes face-to-face. It’s finding her person, someone she wants to come home to and fall asleep with and wake up to and share all her moments with, good and bad. 

 

It’s not what she lost - Alex is no one’s replacement - but it’s a new direction in her life, one she’s so very excited and happy to explore. One to call her own.

 

“Really?” Alex asks, swallowing hard and licking his lips. “Really? You mean that?” 

 

Jules grins. “Yes. With every bit of my heart, yes,” she promises. “I love you.”

 

“Say it again,” he says, his nerves shifting to excitement. God, he’s giddy and it’s beyond endearing. 

 

“I  _ love  _ you,” she says, loud and clear for the entire world to hear.

 

The most beautiful smile she’s ever seen graces his face before he flips her onto her back. Jules laughs as he looms over her, his own joy matching her. He kisses her like he’s adding punctuation to the end of her statement.

 

“Again,” he requests, bright eyes locking with hers. 

 

She wraps a leg over the back of his thigh and drapes both arms around his neck. 

 

“I’m in love with you, Alejandro Castillo,” Jules says. “Beyond anything I could’ve ever imagined.”

 

Alex kisses her again, cradling her head in his hands. He tastes her thoroughly, groaning when she does the same, drinking from each other’s lips until they’re both dizzy with the heady sensation of the moment.

 

“I get it now,” Jules breathes. Alex pulls back to look at her and she takes him in, from the heat in his honey-brown eyes, to the flush in his cheeks, to his swollen lips, to the pure adoration on his face. “I get why you said no to me so many times before. You weren’t interested in just having sex with someone. You wanted to make love.” His eyes darken, his lids growing heavy. She smoothes her hand down the side of his face, running her thumb over his lips. “I understand now, and I am so,  _ so _ glad that you made us wait until I could give you every bit of myself.” 

 

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice hoarse. 

 

“Yeah,” Jules echoes, staring into his eyes. “I want you to make love to me more than anything I’ve wanted in a long time. Make love me to, Alex.”

 

Alex nods, his nose brushing hers as he settles more fully on top of her. She bites her lip at the sensation of his hard lines against hers, and he kisses her, forcing her to let it go.

 

“I love you, Julianna.”

 

“I know.” She smiles. “There’s not a doubt in my mind. And right now, in spite of everything that’s happened, I feel like the luckiest woman in the world.”

 

Alex kisses her soundly. “I’m gonna do my best to make sure you always feel that way,” he vows before his lips fall on hers again.

 

It’s a big statement, speaking to a future still new and uncertain, but it thrills her more than it scares her. Excitement spreads through her in a rush, leaving her senses heightened and her heart racing. 

 

“You too,” Jules promises when they part. She runs her hands up his muscled back to the nape of his neck, her fingers pushing through the fine hair there. He moans as she inches them further, scritching at his scalp, and he drops his forehead to touch hers. “I never want you to doubt my feelings for you. Not ever again.”

 

“I got your art as a cheat sheet for how you feel,” he says with a chuckle. “You start doin’ paintings with jagged lines and red streaks and I’m gonna have to show up with chocolate and flowers or somethin’.” 

 

Jules laughs. Bubbles of joy fill her chest, leaving her light and free. This is everything she never thought she’d have again, a kind of happiness she’d thought was in her past. But she’s beyond lucky to have found love with two incredible, very different men in her life, and the gratefulness she feels for that is overwhelming. 

 

“I love you,” she says. She’s never going to get sick of saying that.  

 

“I know.” A huge grin splits his face. “You told me.”

 

“Yeah, I did.” Jules bites her lower lip with a coy rise of her eyebrow. “So are you gonna make love to me now, or what?” 

 

“Julianna, there is nothing I’d like more,” he confirms, kissing her again. 

 

It’s all heat and soft lips, slowly growing more exploratory, more intense. She melts under his touch, head spinning, heart pounding. Jules moans against his mouth as his teeth tug at her lower lip before letting go. 

 

“Arms up, baby,” he tells her, gripping the bottom of her shirt. 

 

Her eyes never leave his as she complies, lifting her arms. She watches him from under hooded lids as he tugs the material up and over her head, tossing it to the side. He murmurs something in Spanish as he takes her in, and then his eyes find hers. The air crackles with desire and need and love. And, with a growl of her name, he’s back on her, his lips slanting over hers, hungry and wanting. He cups one of her breasts, kneading the flesh, making her whine. Her nipple hardens under his touch and he groans, flicking his thumb over it just as Jules drags her nails down the length of his spine.

 

She pulls her knees up next to his hips, wiggling until his rigid cock is seated perfectly against her. His hips jerk, and she cries out, the shock of his hardness where she needs him most overwhelming her. Oh, she wants more, needs more, and she wraps her legs around his waist, arching her back, pressing herself closer to where he’s straining through his sweats.

 

Alex pulls back, nailing her in place with a heavy, intense look telling her he’s just as swept away as she is. 

 

“You’re just…” He touches her face, before trailing his hand down her neck and chest.

 

“Alex,” Jules moans, shuddering at the perfect feel of his roughened fingertips dragging across her skin. She shuts her eyes and tilts her head back, opening herself to him.

 

“Yeah,” he says, his voice rough and uneven. “Yeah. Just let me…”

 

He rolls off her and she opens her eyes to find him reaching to the nightstand, yanking the drawer open. He sits up and digs around, looking like he’s trying to steady himself at the same time. She actually sees his hands shaking a little when he finds a condom, and he’s blowing air through his lips like he’s trying to regain a little bit of control.

 

He’s  _ anxious _ .

 

Jules sits up, crawling so she’s next to him, cupping his jaw, pulling his attention back to her.

 

“Hey,” she says, stroking his cheek. “We don’t have to rush. Why do you look nervous?”

 

“‘Cause this is important, Julianna,” Alex replies. He closes his eyes and lets out a brief, pained laugh before looking at her again. “And it’s been a really, really long time since I’ve been with a woman. I gotta think I’m not gonna last long and I want this to be amazing for you.”

 

“Oh, baby,” Jules says, shaking her head. “Alex, it already is. C’mere.”

 

He leans into her, his shoulder landing against her chest as she presses long, savoring kisses all over his face. He moans, sagging even more, letting her hold more of his weight as she drags her hands through his hair. Her soul sings at his response, at the way he craves her touch as much as she does his, how he melts under her fingertips.

 

“Gimme that,” she whispers, taking the condom.

 

He hands it over, watching her like he still can’t quite believe any of this is happening. She is long past due in showing him that she’s right here with him, and she looks forward to doing it day in and day out, over and over again, showing him that this is real, that she’s not going anywhere.

 

“Help me out here?” she asks, gripping the waist of his pajama bottoms.

 

Complying, Alex braces himself on the mattress and lifts himself up so she can pull his pants off.

 

Jules licks her lips as he leans back against the headboard.

 

Every inch of his body is beautiful - every inch of who he  _ is _ is beautiful - and Jules can’t help but take a moment to soak it all in. She loves this man, loves how she can laugh with him and tease him, how he challenges her and supports her. She’d love him even if he weren’t one of the most attractive men she’s ever seen.

 

But he’s definitely that, too.

 

Even though he’s reclined, his presence is massive. He’s a big man, much taller than her, and every bit of him is made up of toned muscle. But it’s his eyes that draw her in the most, those gentle, loving eyes she could drown in. He’s completely naked and at her mercy right now, and it’s still his eyes that call to her more than anything else. 

 

She leans in to kiss him, and he eagerly turns his face to hers, pulling her bottom lip between his. 

 

Her hands ghost up his thighs, barely touching him, and he’s so caught up in kissing her that when she wraps her fingers around his cock and drags them down his length, he isn’t ready. 

 

“Oh… oh dios mio, Julianna,” he chokes out as she slowly starts to pump him. His head falls back against the headboard with a solid thud, his hands twisting in the comforter. He’s gorgeous, each stroke making his cock throb, the head red, glistening with precum. A rush of her own arousal surges between her thighs as she touches him. “Baby, I ain’t gonna… You keep that up an’ this is over real fast.”

 

The words come out in stuttered bursts, his face tight with concentration as he fights his own body, trying to settle himself down. But his hips thrust up against her hand anyway; his control is exceptional, but he’s still only human. 

 

“Baby, please?” he manages, grabbing her wrist. Jules falls still and she looks up to find him staring at her. “Not like this,” he tells her. “Another time, yeah, but I wanna be inside you so bad it’s hard to breathe.”

 

“Yeah,” she says, swallowing hard as she watches him. “Yeah.” 

 

She can only imagine what he’ll feel like as he fills her and she can’t help but squeeze him slightly at the thought. His hips jerk up with a harsh groan. 

 

Jules backs off just enough to strip off her panties and reaches for the condom she’d dropped on the bed. He reaches for her, his hands on her hips, his rough palms sliding back to palm her ass even as she tears through the packaging, trying to pull the condom out. His touch sends heat racing across the surface of her skin, every single nerve in her body lighting up. She has half a mind to tell him to knock it off because it takes her too long to realize she didn’t rip the wrapper all the way, which is why the damn condom won’t come out, but one look at his face has the words freezing on her tongue. She’s not sure he can help it, the way he touches her. His fingers dig into her backside, his eyes linger on her chest, falling down to her sex before finding her eyes.

 

It’s so erotic she moans out loud.

 

She finally gets the package open and she doesn’t look where she tosses the wrapper, only caring that she has what she needs. He helps her as she straddles him, stopping him before he pulls her too close. Heavy pants fall from his mouth as she pinches the tip of the condom and rolls it down his length. He grabs her ass even tighter, letting out a low moan as he fights to keep still.

 

“Shh,” she whispers. “I’ve got you, love.”

 

Gripping his hardness with one hand, she finds his shoulder with the other, positioning him at her entrance.

 

Their eyes connect the instant she starts lowering herself on him.

 

“Oh God,” he groans as she takes him in inch by inch until he’s fully seated inside her.

 

“Ooh…” Jules breathes. It’s been a while since she’s had a man inside her like this, and it’s world’s away from the feel of his tongue and fingers. She’s so full, stretched beautifully around him, so…  _ complete _ . “ _ Oh _ .”

 

His thighs tremble underneath her, his fingers tightening against her ass like he’s trying to keep her still for a moment.

 

“You okay?” he asks, grunting as he sits up more fully and caresses her cheek. 

 

“I’m perfect,” she replies. “I was just gonna ask you that.”

 

“I ain’t never been better in my whole damned life,” he promises. “Te amo. Tanto, Julianna. Mi pequeña tormenta. Te quiero tanto.” 

 

“Te quiero tambien,” she answers. 

 

Her Spanish is flimsy as hell and her accent even worse, but she knows that much. And Alex isn’t expecting it. The most amazing look of wonder crosses his face, his thumb brushing against her cheek, staring at her as if she’s his entire world. It’s overpowering, what she sees in his eyes, all that emotion meant for  _ her _ , and she finds herself falling harder and harder for him with every second that passes 

 

She hadn’t known that was even possible.

 

When she starts moving, it’s slow. She rocks into him, locking her arms around his neck, using her forearms as leverage against his shoulders, working herself in small motions against him.

 

It’s amazing. Her body is  _ alive _ , like the two of them together completes a circuit and electricity itself is running through her veins. It’s not just where he’s buried deep inside her, it’s  _ him.  _ All of him _. _

 

Their gazes never waver, the connection they share so intense it makes her gasp. She’d thought she’d known what she was running away from when she kept pushing him away, but God, she’d had no idea. This is so much more than she’d expected, somehow overwhelming all her senses and heightening them so she can feel, touch, smell, hear, taste  _ everything _ all at once. It’s an addiction,  _ he’s _ an addiction, and all she wants is to see the pleasure unfurling inside him, the connection that binds them together. 

 

She’d forgotten it could be like this, that sex could be so much more than seeking a release. 

 

He opened her world - opened  _ her _ \- and she’s so damned grateful he never gave up on her.

 

“Julianna,” he breathes, like he can hear her thoughts. She nods, but the spark of his voice ignited the slow burn of her pleasure. She speeds up a little bit, rocking into him with more force. He shudders, his eyes fluttering. “Por favor, mi amor. Like this, yes.”

 

“Yeah,” she moans, breathless with her growing need for him, for  _ more _ of him. “ _ Alex _ … oh…  _ oh _ , touch me, please. Please?”

 

The words have barely left her mouth before his fingers find her clit. Jules gives a few sharp, breathy gasps as he rubs her with driving purpose. Everything shifts then, speeding up. She rides him harder, sharper, and she watches him grit his teeth against a fast-mounting orgasm. The fingers of his hand where it’s still on her ass dig in hard, and she whispers his name, a thin sheen of sweat breaking out across his body.

 

“Come on, baby,” she urges and he thrusts up against her, each rougher than the last. “Let go, love. I’ve got you.”

 

“Oh,  _ oh dios mio, Julianna _ ,” Alex sobs.

 

He falls into her, his forehead hitting her shoulder as he gives in, thrusting into her with abandon. She feels his cock pulsing inside her as he comes, his hands splaying across her ass, pulling her in tighter, the most beautiful moans and gentle cries falling from him. She tilts her head a little so she can see his face; he’s all desperate pleasure, so beautiful it takes her breath away. She doesn’t even care that she hasn’t orgasmed, because this right here, in this moment, is all she needs.

 

“My love,” Jules murmurs, kissing his temple and running her hands across his trembling body, her hips slowing to a stop. “You’re so beautiful like this, my Alex. My Sentinel.”

 

He shudders, wrapping his arms around her. His hands span the length of her back, one caressing down her spine, the other sliding up to cup the back of her neck. Alex drops gentle kisses across her shoulder, her collarbone, up her neck before he finds her lips. He kisses her so softly and she’s never felt so cherished and special. 

 

“You’re amazing,” he says, his voice hushed. “Everything about you. You got no idea, but I’m gonna show you every damned day. Every day.”

 

“That sounds perfect,” Jules replies, a dreamy smile on her lips as she starts to rise off him.

 

“Nope,” Alex says, tugging her hips back down. “I ain’t ready for you to leave me yet and we are definitely not done here.”

 

“Really?” She gives him a teasing smirk. “I think you might need a minute there.”

 

Alex raises an eyebrow. “Bet I can manage right now.”

 

He’s softening inside her, but she can still feel him. Especially when one of his hands braces against her back and the other goes back to rubbing her clit. The pleasure that’d been building a minute ago roars back to life and she arches her back, pressing down onto him, her eyes fluttering shut as she falls under his commands.

 

“Oh…  _ yes _ ,” she breathes. Her hips start to rock again and she leans back into his hand, trusting him fully to keep her upright. “Oh, just like that.”

 

“I know.” He grins, and it’s lethal when combined with that satisfaction in his eyes, the satisfaction she gave him. Alex plays her like an expert, making her moan for him as he says, “I know your body by now, Julianna. I know how to make it sing. But I gotta admit I’m looking forward to finding new ways.”

 

“Alex!” she cries, thrusting against his fingers. 

 

Her movements become more urgent and he gives a low grunt of approval. It takes her a second too long to realize he’s hardening again.  _ Damn _ , that was fast. And it’s  _ incredible _ . Feeling him come to life inside her is a brand new high on their intimacy level, sending her soaring.

 

The moans and cries that fall from her fill the room, echoing his whispers of encouragement.

 

She’s close, and she holds on tighter, a low keen falling from deep in her chest.

 

And then Alex flips them.

 

Jules finds herself flat on her back with him watching her as he drives into her. 

 

“Oh _ God _ ,” she sobs, scrambling her heels against the mattress and angling her hips up toward him so he rubs right against her clit with every thrust. “Oh God, oh…!”

 

His hands grip both of hers and he presses them above her head as he locks eyes with her.

 

The orgasm that strikes her is so fast, so overwhelming that all she can do is fall into it. Jules flies to pieces with a shriek of his name on her lips, a sheet of white skating over her vision. She comes so hard she can’t see, can’t  _ breathe _ , and it thunders through her, a crack of lightning in a summer storm. 

 

She’s still floating, echoes of her orgasm pulsing through her when Alex collapses on top of her. Jules accepts every bit of his weight, reveling in it with a contented moan, loving the feel of his sweat-slickened skin against hers.

 

“Wow,” she breathes, finally opening her eyes to look at him. Moving is hard, but she has to touch him, has to feel him. She strokes the side of his face. “We’re  _ really _ good at that.”

 

Alex grins. “Imagine how much better we’ll be with some more practice.”

 

“I’m not sure I  _ can _ imagine it.” Jules laughs and pulls his lips down to hers. “But I’m really looking forward to finding out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. Use your birth control as directed. It's not a good plan to keep using the same condom after a man orgasms. 
> 
> P.P.S. Just the epilogue to go and I AM EMOTIONAL. See you all next Monday! I'll be road-tripping with Bre and we may have the opportunity to answer questions together on tumblr or twitter, potentially even in video form again.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you very much for sticking with us to the end of this story. I can't overstate how much that means to me. This has been an intense labor of love and you guys have been amazingly encouraging and supportive. 
> 
> This chapter concludes Tempest, but is far from the last of Jules and Alex that we'll see. Of course, from now on when we see them, we'll see them *together* in every sense of the word. 
> 
> As a quick reminder, there is a six week break in posting now that Tempest is done. We'll be back with some Pieces of Always chapters starting July 23rd. And then... Providence - Will and Amelia's story - which you can see some of the roots of here. But for now, please enjoy the end of Tempest. 
> 
> Thank you!  
> Janis and Bre

 

“You’re not supposed to be here!”

 

Will’s movements are slow, each step a hesitant lurch that belies how much pain he’s still in. That doesn’t stop him from offering his sister a pale-faced smile anyway. A lump forms in Jules’ throat - it’s so very  _ Will _ and she’d come so close to losing that forever. 

 

They all had.

 

Ellie materializes at their brother’s side, hovering at his elbow, ready to catch him if he falls.

 

Neither of them miss Will’s exasperated sigh, even as he ignores her. Jules can’t blame him. That level of mother-henning would drive her crazy, too, even if it was well-meaning. It was kind of the theme with the Queen siblings, wasn’t it, Jules mused, glancing at Ellie. She  _ might _ owe her an apology for the whole Sara thing the other day.

 

“I heard you were gonna kick my best friend’s ass,” Will quips, the words breathless with effort to not use his core too much. Which is damn near impossible and it looks like it only hurts him more. “No way was I gonna miss that.”

 

Alex snorts and shakes his head. “Ain’t like this is your only chance to see it, Vato. Your sister’s gonna have me flat on my ass on the regular from here on out.”

 

Jules grins, showing every last tooth as she pats his chest. “Oh, baby, you’ve got no idea.” 

 

The only response she gets is a raised eyebrow from him and a little grunt lodged in the back of his throat. Jules is pretty damned sure he’s biting the tip of his tongue between his back molars to keep from speaking and that thought is  _ delightful _ . Like knows that, his eyebrow goes up another tick as his fingers dance up her spine to the back of her neck.

 

Across the room, Nate gives a long-suffering moan as he relinquishes his chair. “I really wish I understood less innuendo.”

 

Will winces, and Jules is pretty sure it’s because he’s in total agreement with their little brother and not from any physical pain he might be enduring.

 

Ellie isn’t nearly as convinced. 

 

“You should sit down,” she tells him, gesturing toward the chair Nate had given up. “Are you sure you don’t need a wheelchair? It’s only been a week.”

 

“I’m walking across a room, Ellie, not running a marathon,” Will replies. In spite of his words, he tosses his phone on the table and eases into the empty chair with an obvious sense of relief.

 

He looks weak. He probably  _ is _ weak, and probably  _ feels _ it even more. It strikes Jules that if this is hard for her to see, it’s probably even harder for him to live with. He might be on the mend, but his body suffered serious trauma and the road ahead will not be easy, and he’s going to  _ hate _ it.

 

Sadness hits her in small bursts, but that doesn’t stop her from teasing him.

 

“Please,” Jules says. “Like you’ve  _ ever _ ran a marathon?” 

 

“There was the zombie run,” he counters, his voice light and playful. “I was nearly a very convincing participant for this year’s.”

 

Jules shoots him a long-suffering look to which he just grins. He’s leaning  _ hard  _ on the gallows humor, but that’s just how he copes with things. Always has.

 

Ellie misses the memo completely. 

 

“You were  _ impaled _ !” their sister snaps. “That’s not funny, Will.”

 

“Yes,” he replies, giving her a patient look, “and now I’m no longer a Will-kabob. I’m healing and I need to actually start  _ using _ my muscles again, Ellie.”

 

“He’s following doctors’ orders,” their father says, pulling everyone’s attention to him as he and Felicity make their way into headquarters. “He’s gonna be okay.”

 

“See?” Will says to Ellie. “I’m gonna be okay.”

 

But their mother has a look on her face that speaks to the exact opposite. She flips through what looks like Will’s discharge papers, shaking her head.

 

“I think he needs another opinion,” Felicity announces, finally looking up. 

 

Oliver just sighs. They’ve clearly had this discussion before. Probably multiple times, if Jules knows her parents.

 

“We flew in the best specialists in the country already, honey.”

 

“Then we need the best ones out of the country,” she insists, folding her arms and digging in for a challenge. “This is our son, Oliver. Our little boy. He almost  _ died _ .”

 

“But I didn’t!” Will chimes in with an almost manic sense of desperation in his voice. The poor guy has probably been drowning in the his mother and sister’s smothering concern. “I didn’t. I’m okay. Or, I will be okay. And, if you remember, I have about a decade of medical experience myself. I’m very confident with the doctors’ orders. I’m right where I should be for now.”

 

Felicity bites her lips together, watching Will with intense concern. Oliver sidles up next to her and wraps an arm around her shoulders, rubbing her arm. He whispers something in her ear before pressing a soft kiss to her temple. It does nothing to diminish Felicity’s concern, but she does melt in her husband’s embrace with a pained sigh. 

 

“I promise,” Will emphasizes. “I will take care of myself and follow doctors’ orders. If I have any concern about what they have to say, we can call in whatever specialist you pick. Okay?” 

 

Felicity doesn’t want to accept that, but it’s also clear that she realizes she doesn’t really have a choice. Jules gets it. She wants to make everything easier for Will, too. Especially given how he got hurt in the first place. But there are no shortcuts. 

 

Not this time. 

 

“We’re gonna miss your ugly mug around the station for a bit,” Alex tells him. 

 

“Gonna be at least seven or eight months before I’m back on the truck,” Will replies, frustration leaking out of his voice. “I’ll go nuts.”

 

“You got your own battles to fight,” Alex says. “Your seat’ll be there when you’re better. ‘Til then we’ve got each other’s backs. Captain said he was gonna put in a call to see if Elliot could fill your spot for a while. At least give us someone we know.” 

 

“Isn’t he in Gotham?” Will asks.

 

“Guess his husband got a short-term job offer in Starling.” Alex shrugs. “Seems like it might work out.” 

 

“Well, it’s good to know someone competent is taking my place, I guess,” Will acknowledges. “And you’ll have me hanging around the station in a few months doing paperwork. But for now I need to focus on physical therapy. And sleeping more hours than a newborn every day.” 

 

“Newborns vary greatly,” Felicity tells him, as if this is relevant information. It’s not, and even she knows that, but she needs to do something and if this is it? Then so be it. She waves at Nate. “Your brother only wanted to sleep when he was being held. I eventually sprayed my perfume on his sheets and recorded my voice reading off quarterly reports to lull him to sleep and  _ wow _ that might actually explain a lot now that I’m thinking about it.”

 

The deadpan look Nate gives her is utterly priceless and Jules leans back against Alex’s impressive frame as she chuckles at her brother’s expense.

 

This is the first time they’ve all been in a room together when they weren’t petrified that Will might not survive. It’s nice, having everyone together when there isn’t life or death on the table. And it’s amazing how naturally Alex fits into her family. It’s as if he’s an extension of her - he’s welcomed without question, without  _ note _ even. This is how it should be, she realizes. He’s meant to be here.

 

“I was promised a fight, you know,” Will reminds them. “A full-on vigilante-versus-fledgling-vigilante sparring session where I get to exercise my core muscles by laughing at my best friend getting his ass kicked by my sist…”

 

His phone rings.

 

Every last bit of humor drains from Will’s face as he glances at the screen. He grits his teeth, trying to keep his face even, but the pain that creases his brow is hard to miss. Jules frowns as a wild urge to punch whoever the hell is making him look like that takes over. She’s about to ask what’s going on when Ellie pipes up.

 

“She’s calling  _ again _ ?” the younger girl asks. “Will… you’ve gotta answer. Come on.”

 

“No,” he says, his voice sharp and closed off. His eyes never leave the screen, though.

 

“If you didn’t want to talk to her, you’d have erased her contact photo long ago,” Ellie points out. 

 

Will doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t have to. The tortured look on his face tells Jules everything she needs to know about who it is that’s calling him. He stares at the screen - at the picture that Jules is too far away to see clearly, but she knows the woman in it is laughing - until it stops ringing. He keeps staring at the screen long after it goes black.

 

“Will…” Ellie starts.

 

“What I want and what I need are different things, Ellie,” Will says, sinking further into the chair. The move obviously irritates the wound in his stomach, and instead of shrinking away from it, he sinks down even further, settling into the physical pain.

 

“Do you delete her voicemails, then?” Ellie challenges. “Or are you gonna listen to yet another one of her begging to hear your voice tell her that you’re okay over and over like some self-imposed torture session?”

 

“Leave it  _ alone _ ,” Will rasps. His voice fights for each word.

 

“You should  _ call _ -”

 

“He should do exactly what he’s doing,” Jules interrupts her sister. “No good comes from Amelia Prescott. It never has. The last thing he needs is her messing with his head right now.”

 

“ _ Jules _ ,” Will growls.

 

“If you didn’t know I was right, you’d be calling her back right now,” Jules points out. “It’s obvious you want to.”

 

“It’s not like that,” he bites out. “We both picked our paths. They don’t intersect. It doesn’t mean I don’t want them to or that she doesn’t. It’s just… not an option. But I’m also not going to sit here and listen to you badmouth her. She doesn’t deserve that.”

 

“You’ve always been way too soft for her.”

 

To her surprise, it’s not Will who reins her in. It’s Alex. “Let it go, cariño. A man’s got limits,” he murmurs. It’s meant only for her ears, but judging from Will’s face she’s pretty sure he hears Alex, too.

 

“Whatever,” Jules says with a shrug. “It’s good you aren’t calling her back. You have enough on your plate right now.”

 

The smile Will gives her is forced and they all know it. An uncomfortable silence lingers long enough that Jules replays her words in her head, reevaluating all of them. She’s doing it again, she realizes. They  _ all _ do this, poke their noses into each other’s business, making it their own when it shouldn’t be.

 

“Sorry,” Jules says. It gets a surprised look from every person in the room. She avoids meeting any of their eyes for a moment before looking directly at Will. “That wasn’t fair. It’s not my business. And whatever I might think about it, I shouldn’t be pushing you away from someone you care about. Or toward them,” she adds, her eyes slipping to Ellie.

 

Understanding lights up Ellie’s eyes and she gives a slow nod of agreement. “Thank you.”

 

Jules’ reply is nothing but a head tilt of acknowledgement. 

 

Will says nothing at all, but she hadn’t expected him to.

 

“So,” Jules says instead, turning to look up at Alex. “Your weapon or mine?” 

 

His eyes narrow at the almost-innuendo and she’s close enough to see his cheek twitch as he weighs the implications. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t love that. 

 

Jules hums and leans further into him, her hand settling against his chest, fingers curling into his t-shirt. “How  _ should _ I take you down today?”

 

From the corner of her eye she can see Nate burying his face in his hands.

 

“You’re gonna scar your baby brother, you know,” Alex points out. 

 

“Both her brothers,” Will adds grimly. 

 

“And her father,” Oliver chimes in. 

 

Jules shrugs with a quiet, “Eh, they’ll get used to it,” before pushing up on her tiptoes to kiss her boyfriend. 

 

It’s soft and short, sweet and nearly innocent. In a lot of ways, it’s not noteworthy at all, but it feels special because everything is in the open now. She’s not hiding a thing. Not from her family or from Alex or even from herself. It’s beautiful and freeing and she hopes she gets to have a million more moments just like this one because it’s filled with a brand of joy that she’s never felt before. The kind she never believed was real. 

 

“I ain’t ready to go up against you with the chain whip,” Alex says when they part.

 

“Bastons it is, then,” she agrees. 

 

Jules grabs a pair of sticks from the wall, tossing one to him. He catches it easily, spinning it with one hand into the correct hold. That alone is proof that he’s been working with Roy and Eric. Showoffs, the two of them. 

 

Jules laughs and shakes her head.  

 

Her father follows them to the training mats, focusing on their feet and the way they hold themselves as well as their grips on the weapons. Alex might not get yet that this part is important too, but Jules does. 

 

Fights don’t start with the first hit. They begin with the foundation, with the build up, with all of the things that inform how the battle starts. 

 

History matters. It influences the present, the future. 

 

“You ready for this?” Alex asks with a lift of his eyebrow as he fixes his stance. 

 

“Yeah,” Jules says, not even bothering to fight the grin pulling at her lips. 

 

Something mends inside her, a final piece slipping into place as a sense of joy and excitement courses through her. This is  _ right _ . Alex’s place in her life, in the team, in her heart… It’s  _ all _ right. And there’s no question in her mind about what comes next.

 

“I’m ready.” 


End file.
